


Neon Genesis Evangelion: GENOCIDE

by Rommel



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Canon Continuation, Explosions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Multi, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 79,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6810040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rommel/pseuds/Rommel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after the death of Kaworu, NERV and its people struggle to rebuild. The Children face new challenges, but for two of them the worse thing may just be each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Genocide 0:01 / Dispositions

**Author's Note:**

> Trying this out for the first time in AO3. There might be some formatting issues.

Notes: insert legal disclaimer here. Yeah, yeah, I’m too lazy to write one myself. Now, the main reason for re-writing this is that, well, you know something is bad when you can’t go back and read your own stuff without cringing. It also gives a chance to further develop some of the themes and symbols that didn’t quite work out. Is this cheating? Yeah, probably. But this is the internet so whatever. I did have trouble trying to figure out if I wanted to publish this as a new story, since there is going to be a massive amount of new material, and old material is going to get chopped up, or if I should just update older chapters as I go. I decided to do both for the sake of consistency.

I also wasn’t entirely sure if it would be presumptuous to write a footnote explaining some of the metaphors, themes, etc, but decided against it. I might do so in the future if anyone is interested. Thanks go to Arkiel for the thorough job of pre-reading. Also to Big D and Mike for all the input and the chatting.

All feedback is welcome.

Note to fanfiction.net readers: I know horizontal lines can be annoying, but FFN strips the blank lines that I use to separate scenes and I have to put something there for readability.

\--Rommel, March 2007

Edit: revised August 2009, thanks to some feedback from readers. Hopefully certain plot points will be clearer now.

 

Neon Genesis Evangelion: GENOCIDE

By Rommel

 

Room 303 of NERV's Cranial Nerve Ward was located at the far end of a long, brightly-lit corridor.

Shinji Ikari, Third Child of the Evangelion Project, stood in front of the door, his sullen gaze fixed on the metal knob. He didn't want to be here--didn't want to be anywhere--and felt disgusted that he had not been able to find a less selfish reason for coming. But he was desperate. He needed someone to talk to. Someone who might understand. 

The steel knob was cold when he turned it and opened the door.

Fluorescent illumination flooded everything with harsh light, reflecting off the towers of medical equipment and the polished tile floor so that all colors appeared to wash out into a white flash. The air was cold, loaded with the heavy scent of disinfectants—the same nauseatingly sterile smell he'd come to associate with the worst moments of his young life. The room was large, intended for long-term intensive care patients, with a single bed placed in the middle and the equipment arranged around it.

A single bed for a single patient, who might have passed away without anyone noticing if not for the constant beeping of the heartbeat monitor. She lay curled up under white sheets, her distinctive orange-red mane visible at one end and pretty bare feet at the other. Several bundled cables emerged from beneath the sheets, each connected to the machines monitoring her vital signs. An I.V. hung from a stand by the bed, dripping into a clear plastic line taped securely to a wrist. 

Shinji didn't know what was wrong with her. The grownups hadn't bothered to explain anything, probably thinking him just a child who would not understand. And maybe they were right. It didn't matter.

He closed the door behind him and approached the bedridden girl slowly. She looked so small, the sheets outlining her young form, completely unaware of his presence.

“Asuka,” Shinji called softly, his throat dry. “Please, talk to me.”

There was no reply.

Shinji reached down cautiously and grasped Asuka's shoulder. Leaning over her, he caught a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were closed, her features peaceful in a way he had seldom seen them before, blissfully lost to her own sad fate. But she wasn't asleep—no such comfort could be found in the medications that coursed through her body and kept her from waking. 

“Asuka,” he whispered again, tugging at her. Her name sounded hollow, meaningless. She had always been so proud of it. He shook her again, hoping that perhaps she could hear him so deeply within her own subconscious. 

Nothing. She didn't move; didn't make a noise. And though Shinji knew she couldn't help it because of her condition, her indifference felt like a cold stab at his heart. Had she been awake, he knew she would have called him names, and made his life miserable. That would have been preferable to nothing. 

“I killed someone.” 

The admission was like an open invitation for the memories. And with them came an onrush of emotions so powerful they threatened to wash away all composure—pain, disgust, anger, all directed inwards. 

He could still feel the weight of Kaworu's body on his hand ... the bones crushing. He just wanted to tell her about that. Somehow, in his mind the thought that she might forgive him for what he'd done to someone else would make it better. He had not come for Asuka's own forgiveness. She could hate him, as she always had. He was used to that.

“Asuka, I killed ...” his voice trembled and faded. Then his heart tightened in the cold silence, and a rush of anger at the uncaring girl crashed through him. “Aren't you going to say something? Insult me like you always do. Yell at me. Anything, I don't care.”

His fingers clawed into the thin material of her sheets and the soft flesh of her shoulder.

“Asuka, say something!” He shook her violently, his voice rising to a sharp, utterly desperate scream. His fingers clawed into the thin material of her sheets and the soft flesh of her shoulder. “Wake up! Wake up! ASUKA!”

Tears running down his face, screaming, he pulled on her with all his strength. The whole bed shook as Asuka rolled forcefully onto her back, snapping the cables that connected her to the heartbeat monitor. Some of their leads peeled off and snagged on her short gown, which flew suddenly open. The sheets fell away, rustling to the floor.

Shinji straightened up slowly. His mouth went dry and eyes wide as he stared at the exposed girl now sprawled in front of him. Under the gown she wore only a pair of thick diaper-like plastic panties, and her skin seemed almost as white as the sheets she lay on, cold and pale. Bare breasts rose and fell gently in time with her breathing, capped by dainty pink nipples. And despite the violence he’d inflicted on her body, despite the screams, she did not wake up.

With the leads disconnected the monitor flatlined into a single drawn-out, interminable whine. It wouldn’t be long before the nurses came, but Shinji remained frozen, his eyes fixed on the naked girl.

How many times had he wanted to Asuka her like this? She had always gone out of her way to tease him only to call him a pervert and scream at him, simultaneously offering and denying him what they both knew he couldn't have. But despite the abuse and humiliation he had endured at her hands she was the object of his fantasies—the thing that fueled his sexual urge more than any other.

He was only vaguely aware that it was normal for boys his age to have these sort of feelings. It was all part of being a teenager, of growing up. He had heard all that in the sex ed. classes the students were forced to listen to in which the teachers would go on about unprotected sex and abstinence. Nobody ever paid any attention. It was all normal.

Except he didn't feel normal.

And this was no fantasy.

Asuka lay so obscenely displayed before him, more open than she had ever been before, as if she were waiting for him to act. The girl that would fight him and scream at him was gone, replaced with a naked body. All he had to do was reach out and ... violate her.

Shinji took a step back, feeling his chest tighten horribly with guilt; the sad expression on his face replaced with one of revulsion.

This was his fault. He should have helped her when the Fifteenth Angel broke into her mind; should have done something other than sit in his Eva, hearing her scream as her psyche was torn to pieces. And afterward, he should have been there to comfort her, to let her know that she was not useless and need not be alone.

Instead he’d done nothing, and she would do nothing for him now.

“I'm...sorry, Asuka.” The feeling of sickening self-disgust rolling through him choked his words and a gloomy, heavy silence enveloped the room once again, broken intermittently only by the EKG's electronic wail and his quiet sobbing.

Shinji didn't try to call for Asuka again. He rushed out of her room a moment later, still in tears.

 

 

"Man is the measure of all things" -Protagoras.

Genocide 0:01 / Dispositions

 

THREE MONTHS LATER

 

Sub-Commander Kozo Fuyutsuki was always impressed by the cold manner in which his superior handled himself whenever business was being conducted. But even more impressive was the fact that Gendo Ikari, a man who did not know the meaning of the word compromise, had proven very adept at politics.

Watching from the secret surveillance room next to Ikari's office he could sense more than see the other's contempt for the new bureaucratic pawn the Ministry of the Interior had sent to replace the deceased Kaji Ryougi.

“I trust you have brought what we agreed on,” Ikari said, as he turned away from the huge window that dominated an entire side of his office and fixed the man in front of him with a glare. “Otherwise, the purpose of this meeting is merely a courtesy to your superiors.”

The office was a massive space, with Ikari’s desk placed in the center; the Tree of Life, that staple of mystics and alchemists through the ages, was scrawled on the floor, beneath Ikari as if to suggest his dominance over life and death, and heaven itself.

The man he was talking to was Junichi Nakayima, appointed liaison between NERV and the Civil Reconstruction Council, and agent of the Japanese Ministry of the Interior—in other words, a spy. 

It would have been worse if they didn’t send anyone, Fuyutsuki thought.

"Yes, I have, Commander Ikari," Nakayima said. He was athletically built, but was not tall--at least not taller than Ikari--and wore the black uniform that was standard for Ministry field agents. His hair was black and closely cropped so that he looked more like a grunt fresh out of training than a bureaucrat. His features were narrow, and unmistakably oriental.

Gendo Ikari, on the other hand, cut a much more imposing figure. He was broad-shouldered and tall, his face permanently chiseled into a stern mask that demanded compliance even on the most menial of subjects. A short beard closely followed his jawline, and his glasses lent him an image of ruthless intelligence. He wasn't just NERV's commander, he was the organization's absolute ruler.

Nothing happened inside the Geo-Front without his knowledge or consent. It was only fitting; he was the reason NERV had endured as long as it had despite being surrounded by enemies.

Ikari walked to his desk, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence.

Nakayima reached into his jacket pocket, producing a small, emerald-green data disk encased in a thick transparent plastic which he carefully set on Ikari's desk.

"I must admit I was starting to doubt you." Behind his thick spectacles, Ikari's eyes flashed briefly to the disk before returning to Nakajima. "A man in my position has to be wary of even the closest ally. No offense to you personally, of course."

"Of course,” the man repeated. “I would imagine that is why my superiors agreed to let NERV borrow the information on the disk, sir. We are in this together now, and we believe a gesture of faith such as this should go towards easing our relationship. We also believe it will encourage closer ties now that it seems the UN is pushing for disarmament."

There had never been any doubt that the Ministry of the Interior would try to push another agent inside NERV following the death of Special Agent Kaji Ryuji. Information of the sort he had provided them with was surely worth more than the life of one agent, maybe more than two, or three, or a dozen. Human life was cheap, had been for a long time, but information could make or break nations.

Even so, Nakayima seemed like an odd choice. He was by no means the caliber of agent usually fielded by the Ministry, and since caution was the better part of valor Fuyutsuki had already sent people to dig into on his background. It turned out to be an exercise in futility; his men had dug halfway to Mexico and still found it impossible to trace him to any intelligence training school. This left him with the conclusion that Nakayima was either the worst spy in the world or had the best cover in the world.

Ikari sat in his chair and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his heavy wooden desk and lacing his fingers in his customary manner. "Very well,” he said. “If you don't mind, I should like this opportunity to have you answer a question.”

Nakayima stiffened slightly, but said, “Not at all.”

“The government has cut our budget again. Would you care to explain why?"

"Politics, sir,” Nakayima replied promptly. “They believe it would look suspicious for NERV to retain its priority on their funding program now that it is no longer vital for our security. Additionally, the funds for the reconstruction efforts have to come from somewhere and only so much money can come from other projects, so NERV must share the burden, as it were. After all, it is because of NERV that Tokyo-3 needs to be rebuilt."

“It is because of NERV that the human race is still around to be concerned with money,” Ikari retorted. “We are owed more than empty pleasantries.”

Fuyutsuki narrowed his eyes. The problem was not money; NERV would take what it needed for its existence from the Civil Reconstruction Council's fund regardless of budgets, and from certain other private investors. What concerned Fuyutsuki was the fact that NERV, as Nakayima had put it, was no longer vital.

NERV's operations, and the incredible amount of power it wielded over all other civilian and military agencies, had always been predicated on the fact that it was indispensable. That had all changed in the last few months.

However, true to their word, certain interested parties within the UN had made good on their agreements and held up the removal of the Special Protection Order that granted NERV immunity in squabbling committees. Even though it was due for a vote, NERV was already assured of at least two full vetoes.

Fuyutsuki felt a grin curl on his wrinkled features. The old men of SEELE must have been furious at finding their so-called absolute power stymied by the necessities of a system built on international cooperation, he thought. But Gendo Ikari had something under his sleeve they failed to account for.

He had the Eva—the weapon itself, but also the technology and expertise to make it work. And like the nuclear bomb before it, possessing an Evangelion was a symbol of power and prestige, and all the things that made men sell their souls. SEELE believed that giving up the Evas would dilute their strength. Ikari believed it was not so; what really mattered was who else wanted it, and what they were willing to give up in exchange.

So the Special Protection Order remained in place for now, bought and paid for with the Evangelions. 

Fuyutsuki and Ikari knew this detente would not last forever. In the end, the old men would get their way, whether by legal means or otherwise. Time was a luxury NERV could not afford, and it was running out. 

"We know, and are glad for your understanding of the situation," Nakayima said. "I will relay your concerns to the Council. Unfortunately, without a new budget from the UN, there's very little we can do.”

Ikari nodded. His face remained grim. 

“And as you know, the UN has been very reluctant to cooperate,” Nakayima added. “They are not in a position to justify such a large budget anymore.”

The Commander let him hang for a moment. Then finally said, “Very well. For the time being, I will accept the situation on the grounds of our compromise. But NERV's defense is more vital than the city's reconstruction. The Ministry of the Interior would do well to remember that.” 

If anything Agent Nakayima seemed relieved. “We understand.”

“I have no further points to discuss. You are dismissed. Tell your superiors that NERV, too, looks forward to our mutual collaboration.”

Nakayima saluted respectfully and turned on his heels.

Fuyutsuki waited for him to leave before stepping through the hidden side-door located in the far corner of the office and immediately noticed the contemptuous smirk that had appeared on Ikari's face. Ikari did not bother to explain and Fuyutsuki, who fully understood what had just happened, did not need him to.

He took the disk from his superior and carefully examined it. "I can't believe they would just let you have it."

"Ignorance is our ally," Ikari said, a dark curl entering his lips.

Glancing down at the tiny disk in his hand, Fuyutsuki tried to keep the sudden concern he felt hidden beneath the surface. The deep green material of the disk's surface reflected even the scarce light of the office, making it glint oddly like an eye.

"Do you disapprove?" Ikari asked him, his tone suggesting that he already knew the answer.

Fuyutsuki took a deep breath. Though he'd learned that it was acceptable to disagree with Ikari on a perfectly reasonable basis, he did not feel wholly comfortable doing so.

"I do not think we should be taking this kind of risk,” he said. “If you are going to use Rei, then I would much rather get it over with before the Japanese or SEELE have a chance to intervene. As we know they will."

"Rei is not ready,” Ikari said. “The scenario did not account for us losing her again. Now that we have, we can no longer proceed as planned. Perhaps this was for the best. I was pained to lose her, but Rei had admittedly become too...”

“Attached?” Fuyutsuki finished for him.

Ikari ignored the interruption. "We made the mistake of allowing her too much freedom."

“And you think this will help?” Fuyutsuki held the disk up between his thumb and forefinger. “Knowing what we know it is capable of? It could be suicide.”

"It will buy us the time we need. And if properly implemented it will fight itself. SEELE will know we have it, of course. Just as well. I believe that once we put the contents of the Emerald Tablet to use the UN will not dare move against us, regardless of what SEELE wants. Fear will become our shield once again.”

“Or they will seek to destroy us all the more swiftly,” Fuyutsuki retorted uneasily. “Quite a fortress of lies we have built already.”

“They would not be able to justify such an action to each other, let alone the rest of the world,” he said, his voice controlled and hard as stone. “Now there is another matter I must tend to. Have you made the necessary arrangements?"

"Yes, but I don't think she will cooperate. She's become quite fond of your son. And Dr. Akagi--"

"Ritsuko will do what I ask. And we should not worry about Major Katsuragi. She’s had plenty of time to think about where her loyalties lie. She is still here; whatever her reasons, that means she is willing still to take orders and to see them through."

Fuyutsuki was not wholly convinced about the trustworthiness of either woman. Ritsuko Akagi had endangered everything they'd spent years preparing for no other reason than jealousy; Misato Katsuragi, on the other hand, seemed to have much more pragmatic motives. She was still here because she wanted to gain something—her sense of duty kept her loyal but only as long as she was still searching. Once she found what she thought she wanted to know, things would be very different.

Both women had made their relationships with NERV, and therefore with Ikari, deeply personal. And while Major Katsuragi still had the excuse of ignorance, Doctor Akagi was a willful and entirely knowledgeable partner. As she had already demonstrated, the damage she could do was nearly incalculable.

“Trust is not something that should be easily given these days.” Fuyutsuki returned to his examination of the emerald disk, still questioning what could turn out to be an act of gross oversight on the Commander's part —regarding his subordinates as well as many other things.

“No trust is given,” Ikari said. “Only purpose.”

 

 

Misato Katsuragi opened her eyes, struggling to keep her teeth from rattling in the cold. Gathering her jacket more securely around her shivering form, she looked down at the laptop sitting on the floor next to her and read the screen.

“Searching,” she said to herself, “dammit, still searching.”

She fought the urge to tap on the keys, knowing it was likely to make things worse. For all she knew it might even trip the alarm systems she'd taken months to crack. She let out a sigh of impotence, her breath freezing around her, and curled tighter in her little corner, nestling against the wall for warmth. 

Hyuga had told her what this place was, a storage center for the MAGI databases, and he had explained that it would be cold on account of the liquid nitrogen used to cool the rig, but he hadn’t told just how cold. 

The large room was full of towers that rose from the floor like columns until they reached the ceiling, packed with what looked like servers or hard drives. Cables of different sizes ran from the towers to a central hub-like CPU, and though it was mostly pitch black, all the servers had tiny red diodes that pierced the darkness like faint stars that winked in and out of existence as the machines dutifully performed their tasks.

The electronic humming of technology had become almost pleasant; merely background noise to her thoughts. Technology powerful enough to protect life, or destroy it. Just like fifteen years ago.

And just like fifteen years ago, Misato had watched it happen all over again, and just like before it had cost her someone she loved.

"I am sorry too...Kaji-kun," Misato whispered. She gazed up at the blinking lights, wondering how long she could keep going like this before she met the same end as Kaji. It wouldn't be so bad; probably just a bullet or a knife or something. Maybe she wouldn't see it coming, and the next thing she'd feel would be Kaji, hugging her like he did in college to keep her warm at night. Shinji would understand, wouldn't he?

Shinji.

How would he understand? She was the only one he had left.

The high-pitched beeping of her cell phone broke through the hum, shattering her thoughts like glass. Misato reached into her jacket and allowed her fingers to rub gently against the butt of her gun before grabbing the small phone. "Katsuragi," she said, trying to keep her voice even.

"Major, you are requested back at Central Dogma." Hyuga's voice was flat and emotionless, completely unlike him. Something was wrong. "The Commander has asked for a meeting with the Central Control Personnel--"

"Do you know what it's about?"

"I can't tell you more now. Where are you? Should I send someone to pick you up?"

Misato glanced momentarily around her. Hyuga probably knew where she was, so his question could only mean that this connection was being monitored. "That's not necessary. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Have a car train ready for me."

"Use train 5," the young operator suggested before hanging up. Silently, Misato thanked him for playing along.

Misato put her cell phone away and stood up, rubbing some heat back into her frozen muscles. As she did, a disturbing question came to mind. Why was she still doing Gendo Ikari's bidding? He called and she went running to him as if she were his faithful dog.

The things she'd had to do following this man's orders would haunt her forever. At first it had been simple; she'd fooled herself into thinking it was for a noble cause.

But, in reality, destroying the Angels had made her feel better, had taken away some of the pain. The Angels had caused Second Impact—almost wiping out the human race—and wanted to cause a Third to finish what they had started. It was only fitting that they pay for what they'd done. Then she found out it had all been a lie, and the house of cards on which she built the justification for all the horrible things she'd done came crashing down.

The Angels had not brought the end of the world Misato had been happy in, Man had.

 

 

She was floating in something that was neither air nor water. Something warm and faintly familiar. A coppery taste and smell. The world was flooded by it, the way the ocean floods the deepest basins between continents, between ruined cities.

There was no sky or ground or any sense of reality; there was only the taste and smell. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see beyond the orange void. The taste she knew very well—LCL—but why hadn’t she noticed the smell before?

And then she saw the lights. She let herself ascend from the nothingness, her body gliding gracefully through the liquid, her back arched as the warm embrace of this new womb surrendered to a cold chill.

Was this what it felt like to be born? Was this what it felt like to enter the cold, unforgiving world from a place of utter bliss and protection, to surrender to the awful reality of existence for the sake of living?

Was this what mother smelled like?

Rei Ayanami could not change what she was. That realization began to dawn within her as she broke the surface and was confronted by the white monster of gleaming flesh, nailed to a cross, whose face was hidden by the mask of steel with seven eyes. It stared at her with a heavy facade that was beyond all reality, pouring a stream of LCL into the ocean from its severed midsection.

Something took hold of her arm. The LCL lapped at her sides and she felt herself being moved across the surface. It was cold in the dark cavern, but she didn't care.

Hypnotized, she stared at the creature on the cross, mute and pale. She sensed that it saw her and welcomed her as its own and changed. She saw herself nailed to the cross, her eyes burned brightly in the dark, her face white as the face of the creature, and she understood then that she was the creature.

It called to her in a voice that she recognized as her own, again and again. It loved her and cared for her the way no human being ever had. Then the voice changed, and Rei instantly recognized it again.

“Ayanami!”

There was an incredible roar, like the bellowing of an Eva Unit gone berserk, and then a bright white light covered everything. She had to protect him. He was all that mattered. She had to … was this what it meant to love?

And then there was blinding pain.

Rei Ayanami opened her eyes suddenly, and was immediately overcome by nausea. She sat in her bed, naked among twisted sheets of white linen, covered in sweat, and shook her head. The room was still dark, the silent blankness pressing in on her like a suffocating blanket. For a short while she tried to fight the last remnants of the dream, and managed to push away the sickening sensations it stirred in her. She had felt them before, when inside the dummy system and when inside Eva-01.

Oblivious of her own nudity, she stood and walked to the nightstand, picking up the pair of glasses that her predecessor had kept there but that had not belonged to her.

"Ikari," she whispered softly. "Ikari."

She knew in her heart that it was not her who he had befriended. Who he had cared for. And yet she dreamed about it all, the things that Rei Ayanami had felt so strongly they passed down to her: dreamed of dying, of his touch and his words.

Putting the glasses down, Rei looked at the clock. It was nearly dawn, she saw. Soon she would have to get ready for school and face him again.

 

 

Shinji Ikari rode the Number 3 train to school, listening to the notes of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy as they poured from his S-DAT, his blue eyes closed. He stood in the center aisle, his right hand grasping the safety loop dangling from overhead. He could have passed for any ordinary schoolboy. 

The car was fairly crowed, warm, washed in the bright rays of the early-morning sun streaming through the large Plexiglas windows. The floor vibrated under his feet, barely noticeable through the soles of his sneakers. But Shinji was not interested in his surroundings. Carried by the soothing music filling his ears, his mind wandered back, as it often did when listening to Beethoven, still trying to bring some closure to the last three months.

In all that time he had not gone back to see Asuka again. How could he after what happened? He had not even set foot inside Central Dogma. He no longer had any reason to.

After killing Kaworu, the boy who had so swiftly become rooted in his heart, he made it clear to Misato that he would never pilot Eva again. She didn't try to change his mind; it was his decision and she would respect it, she promised. But the reprieve came too late. If only things had been different, Shinji might have had hope.

Following the wake of so much tragedy—losing Rei and Kaworu, seeing Asuka defiled—he had been utterly broken. Nothing had meaning. Nothing existed outside the gloom of his mind; he noticed nothing besides the hurt he felt. He lay on his bed and listened to music, caught between not wanting to live and not able to die. There was nothing more for him to do. For so long he just ate and slept and wasted away his time, and waited for the world to end. It never did.

And then one day he noticed Misato again.

Somehow he had dragged himself out of bed and shuffled his way across the living room to use the bathroom. He was lying down for so long that his muscles felt stiff, adding to the heaviness he already carried within him. Misato pottered around in the kitchen, heating some curry ramen in a plastic cup and trying to figure out how to wash the coffee machine without taking it apart. 

She froze when she saw him, and he stood there, his gaze on the floor. He had avoided her as much as he could lately. There was nothing she could do for him and they both knew it. There was no sense in pretending.

He resumed his somber pace. As he came around the table Misato cut him off. And before he could do anything to avoid her, she hugged him. She did not say a single word to him—she just hugged him. It made him very uncomfortable. He wanted to pull away, his whole body tense beneath her arms. But then he felt her warmth, the kindness and caring that seemed to have been extinguished from his life.

His hands rose and clutched the back of her shirt. And he started to cry. Misato held him tighter.

Shedding tears always came easily for Shinji, at the slightest emotion. They embodied his suffering but hardly ever relieved it. But he never really cried. Never let go so completely that he felt as though his heart were pouring out. In Misato arms, surrounded by the kind of motherly warmth he had missed for most of his life, he let go of everything that had been building up inside of him since Kaworu's death. Maybe even since before that.

He cried for hours.

When he was done, Misato was still hugging him. For the first time he realized not only that she was there for him, but that she had been there with him all along; giving him space when he needed it, offering comfort even when he didn't want it. She was not a companion in the strict sense of the word, she was just there. 

The cloud of grief still hung heavy over him, but not so heavy that it completely blocked any ray of hope; not so heavy that it made him feel his life was over.

It was also through Misato's encouragement that he found the strength to go back to school. Such a decision was a trial of his resolve to regain his lost childhood. School carried many of his happier memories, and some of the saddest.

Kensuke and Hikari had proven to be true friends, giving him support and comfort, helping him through what was the most awful time of his life. Toji was still in the hospital, but Shinji had it on good word that the other boy was making progress rehabilitating and, more importantly, did not hold a grudge against him. He didn't have to, because Shinji still blamed himself.

Like he blamed himself for Rei, and Asuka, and Kaworu. He always would.

There were still those days … days when he wondered why if it was even worth it to get out of bed in the morning, if it might not be better to just leave. But over time they had become fewer. Living became easier.

Shinji opened his eyes again and looked out the window at the devastated landscape.

The Number 3 train he rode every morning tracked around the eastern bank of the third Ashino Lake which now covered the city of Tokyo-3. Despite having suffered a crippling blow, there was still a city here. Someone had to work for NERV, someone else had to provide all the amenities of modern life. So while a chunk of the once-bustling metropolis was submerged into the ominously-labeled Exclusion Zone, what remained kept going.

Tokyo-3 had always been intended to be a battleground, people had always known the danger, but nothing like what had actually happened had been foreseen.

Shinji was surprised so much effort was being put into rebuilding.

The Reconstruction Council seemed to think it was possible to bring the city back altogether. A dam was being built to seal off the lake, and pumping stations were being set up to clear out the water. Within months he might actually be able to walk through the downtown which was currently covered by millions of tons of water. The suburbs were already up and running, as were outlying schools and transit systems. People could carry out normal life now.

But life wasn’t normal for him. The Eva and the Angels had changed him as well as those around him. The memories of those he’d met and hurt meant he could not be happy, regardless of how much he wished he could be. He would have given anything …

Shinji chanced a glance over his shoulder at the girl sitting further down the narrow, sunny corridor.

Rei Ayanami did not acknowledge his presence, as he rarely acknowledged hers. She was reading a book, and hadn’t said a word to him since he had entered the car. She had always been like that, but he had never felt as uncomfortable with his Rei as he now did with this…girl. She was a stranger. To him, to the world, to everything.

Rei Ayanami—the name had become a part of him. She had mystified him when they first met. Her silent character had earned her a reputation as frigid and distant, but after taking the time to know her, Shinji had found she was a warm, caring human being.

Was. Not anymore.

Because Rei Ayanami, the girl he’d taught how to smile, was dead. She had sacrificed herself to protect him.

This girl was someone else. She might look and act like the girl he used to know, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t the Rei Ayanami he had cared about, just a similar body holding a different heart, a product of bioengineering, like his Eva, a shell, a thing—

Shinji felt a pang of remorse at that thought. 

Although he had seen the tank and the spare bodies with horror, this new Rei didn’t deserve to be thought of as any less human than the one he had known. Doing so made him just as hardhearted as his father. Rei hadn’t asked for this, she was an innocent. She didn’t deserve his scorn simply because she was created.

As she sat there, breathing, living, thinking, feeling, she was human just like him. But while he knew this, he still found that he could not approach her. That he had to alienate her exactly because of what she was and who she had been. It was not fair, but the memories and the pain of that loss was still too raw.

Suddenly, her soft voice, barely audible over the hum of the train and his S-DAT, caught his attention. "If I bother you, I can move to the next car."

Shinji lowered his head. He couldn't blame Rei. It was his decision to push her away and distance himself from her. If there was any blame to go around ... 

“No, please,” he said, pulling out his earphones, his eyes on the floor. “I'm sorry. It’s just … very weird, you know.”

Rei lifted her gaze from the book she had been reading. Her eyes were red, greatly contrasting the sky-blue color of her short, shaggy hair. “Why?”

They hadn't talked about this before—they hadn't talked about anything at all. In hindsight, Shinji realized that he had always been afraid of what he would say. He wanted very much not to have to recall those memories. That was why he avoided her for so long, one reason among many. Just looking at her made him hurt.

“I did not mean to upset you.” Rei turned away and began to stand. “I will let you be.”

“No, I ...” Shinji fought the knot in his throat. “It's because you—because of what happened. You know, you … do you remember?”

“I remember pain,” she said softly.

Shinji turned, able to have a good look at her for the first time in ages. Her skin was a clear white, as if she’d wrapped herself in whiffs of cloud, though some would describe her as ghostly. A petite frame hid under the folds of the blue jumper and white shirt that made up her school uniform, which appeared to be the only piece of clothing she owned.

The plain looking outfit fit her rather loosely—the shirt was definitely a size too big—and was wrinkled. Rei had never cared for such things. At least, she never had. But that was not the girl sitting in front of him. And it was wrong to think of her that way.

After months of willful neglect, Shinji realized there was something he needed to say. “Ayanami, I’m sorry.”

Rei seemed surprised. “For what?”

“I haven’t been very nice to you lately,” he murmured sullenly. “I’ve treated you like … like a stranger. It was just hard to see you around after … you died. After she died. I'm sorry.”

He hesitated, a warm rush of shame coloring his cheeks. “I keep thinking you are her. I just miss her so much. But it wasn’t fair of me to cut you off like that—I think a part of me wished she hadn’t done what she did, but if she hadn’t, I know that Angel would have killed me.”

“She died to protect you,” Rei said, her face remaining as tranquil as always; had it been anyone else Shinji would have taken it badly and withdrawn. “But should you want to blame me—”

Shinji shook his head, now having to fight back tears. “Don’t say that.”

“Self-destructing Unit-00 was her choice. She did not seek advice or permission. It was her choice in the end, made with her own free will, her own mind. It was the only true decision in her life made from the heart. She would not regret it.”

She had not meant her words to be hurtful, he knew. There was nothing in the way she spoke to indicate otherwise. And yet he hurt because of the awful memories the words recalled.

“I will never know,” Shinji said. “But I shouldn’t have pushed you away, just because you weren't her. I shouldn’t have let you be alone. You were always so kind to me. And when you needed me I just couldn’t do the same for you.”

“I was never kind to you. But I think I would be. Like she was.”

Shinji couldn’t look her in the eyes as she said that, instead focusing on her alabaster hands.

“Do you understand, then?” Rei said. “There is nothing to be sorry about. She chose to die, the same way Kaworu Nagisa chose to die.”

Hearing the name said out loud was like a punch to the gut. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I have tried crying for him.” For the first time, Rei let her gaze drop. “But I can not. There is too much about his loss that does not make sense to me. Does that mean I’m not human?”

The train made a left turn, peeling way from the edge of the lake, forcing those passengers who were standing to hold more tightly to the hand loops hanging from overhead rails to keep from stumbling. They were plunged into darkness as the train entered a tunnel. The running lights and the lights wired to the tunnel walls cast weird elongated shadows across the car; the noise of the air and the track rushing past them increased into a thunderous roar.

“I have no emotions," Rei added, her red eyes eerie in the dark. “Is that why I can not cry for him?”

Shinji still did not want to talk about Kaworu, so he was grateful Rei seemed to have changed the subject back to herself. "You must have emotions.”

"Is that what makes you human, your emotions?"

The tunnel fell away and they were back into sunlight. Having left the flooded remnants of Tokyo-3 behind, a new more civilized world stretched around them. Once little more than a rest stop for weary travelers, these sleepy suburbs had grown into a bustling town as one of the most important destinations of the honeycomb that was the mass transit system. This had made it the ideal place to relocate their demolished school.

"I don't know" Shinji said vaguely, wishing this interminable ride would just end already. It had never taken this long to get to school before.

"So, if I have no emotions…I am not human?"

Shinji let the question hang in the air.

"Ikari?" Rei called to him, her voice slightly louder. "Am I not human?" she asked again, sounding concerned.

"You are human," Shinji said. “You have to be.”

"The Rei Ayanami you knew before was the second one. Was she not human?"

Shinji shook his head; he didn't want to answer, and yet the words began coming out of him. “She was very much like you,” he said "I guess you and her are the same and not the same. I can’t really explain it. But being human is more than what you are physically; it’s who you are. And she was human enough for me. Like Kaworu."

Rei twisted halfway away from him, her eyes now gazing into the empty space as if she could see something there.

“But did he not have to die?” she asked, but to Shinji it sounded like a statement, not a question. “Because he was also an Angel?”

Shinji did not answer. There was no point in replying to such a question. Rei knew what had happened, and how painful it must be for him to talk about it. He would not be going there again. 

“He told me I was like him,” Rei added. “I do not think I understand.”

The train slowed with the screeching noise of brakes. Within another moment, it came to a complete stop on the platform and the doors opened.

Gathering his school bag around his shoulder, Shinji stepped off in silence. Rei followed a few paces behind. The crowd was mostly students walking to and from, chatting with friends and acquaintances, asking each other if they’d done their homework then immediately asking if they could copy said homework.

It was short a walk from the train platform to the school, which was a single large rectangular building with an open courtyard and a gym that held a basketball and volleyball court—unlike their old school, there was no swimming pool, much to the boys chagrin.

As he entered the classroom, several girls looked in his direction, giggling and quickly turned away, blushing. He recognized Miho Ishizawa, a tall girl with long, black hair at the center of the group. In Asuka's absence, she seemed to have picked up the idol's baton.

At first Shinji had been annoyed by this sort of behavior—and more than a little embarrassed—until Hikari had explained. It was because of his eyes, she had said, because of how the pale blue always made him look sad and in turn made the girls want to console him, and because they considered him cute.

Given that neither Rei nor Asuka had ever said much about how he looked, Shinji had always assumed he was not much to look at—in fact that was the exact phrase Asuka had used when she first met him. He’d been totally wrong, or so Hikari informed him. His dark brown hair and slender build was more than enough to guarantee him the girls’ attention.

Shinji didn’t really care for this. There had only been two girls whose opinions of him had mattered: one was dead, and the other might as well be.

He took his seat next to Kensuke, who was playing with a scale model of the American B-2 Stealth Bomber. “You lucky dog. I wished they’d look at me like that. Maybe you should introduce me.”

“Ask Hikari,” Shinji nodded towards the freckled Class Representative handing out sheets of paper to various interested-looking students, getting a playful wave in return. “I don’t even know most of their names.”

“Well, Miho certainly thinks very highly of you.”

Shinji just shrugged.

“Man, I know having lived with Miss Popular must make these girls seem ordinary, but not even you can be this jaded.” Kensuke pressed his lips into a pout. “You must have really been spoiled rotten.”

He has no idea, Shinji thought sullenly. Asuka had never been the person they all believed she was. The smiles, the haughtiness … none of it was real.

Rei entered the classroom a moment later and walked silently to her usual desk by the window. Shinji followed her with his gaze. Nobody else paid her any attention.

They didn't know about her either.

 

***

 

“There is just no way for the diploid cells to divide any faster and not risk a complete breakdown of the cellular wall,” Maya Ibuki told the little pink pillow shaped like a bunny. “We are already beyond anything predicted by the Hayflick scale. This sort of thing has never been tried before—I mean we can study some damn lizard, but the Eva is a far more complex organism. You don’t happen to have a degree in macromolecular biology, right, Mrs. Bunny?”

She shook the bunny's head no. 

“Maya, I think you're loosing your mind,” Shigeru Aoba, the self-appointed rock star of the bridge crew said, pausing in his strumming of the imaginary guitar he was holding to look at her with concern. “Has the Commander explained why the big rush? We haven’t been on Level One Alert for months. Unit-01 and Unit-02 are still in stasis. And I suppose, technically, they don’t have pilots.”

“I’m sure there’s a good reason.” Maya stuffed the bunny between her sore back and the chair. “We just don’t know what it is.”

“Seems pretty fishy if you ask me,” that from Makoto Hyuga, who was leaning against his console, holding a cup of coffee. “That boy was the last Angel, that’s what they said before. By the way, Maya, shouldn’t you be working on Unit-00?”

Maya sighed. “I’m on break. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Hyuga and Aoba looked mournfully at each other. “Don’t you want to get some food? Some sleep?” said Hyuga, concerned.

“The food makes me sick, and I’ve got too much coffee in me to sleep.”

Being NERV’s de-facto Chief Scientist was not what she had expected, Maya had already admitted to herself. She could not remember the last time she had left the Geo-Front for her apartment. Maya had been decidedly excited when Commander Ikari had presented her with the opportunity to reconstruct Unit-00.

The project was codenamed Lazarus and it was the first project which would be completely under her control, a tremendous challenge to test the skills she’d learned under the brilliant Dr. Ritsuko Akagi. Cellular mitosis and a host of other procedures had now regenerated almost 25 percent of the vaporized Evangelion, but Commander Ikari was still expressing his displeasure at the lack of progress.

“Maya, I don’t think that’s very healthy,” Aoba said.

Maya truly appreciated their concern. The bond with her fellow operator was one they had forged over dozens of life-threatening situations, and over great tragedy. That’s why she felt comfortable coming to them to vent. “Yeah, I know. The schedule is tight enough as it is so it’s not like I can really get any time off though.”

“If you need more help, feel free to take Haruna over there.” Aoba flicked a thumb at a dark haired female operator further down the bridge.

“I don’t know anything about biology,” Haruna called out, then her voice turned sarcastically sweet, “but thanks for volunteering me for extra work, dipshit.”

Hyuga laughed, slapping Aoba lightheartedly on the back. “And she loves you, you say?”

Haruna’s wit was totally lost on Maya. “It’s not a personnel issue. Half the payroll could volunteer and it wouldn’t do any good. I’m the only one with the expertise—other than Doctor Akagi, I mean.”

“That is very true.”

Doctor Akagi’s voice.

Maya was on her feet before the faux-blonde doctor, the genius behind NERV, could come to a stop in front of the small group of operators, her look of utter astonishment shared by everyone.

It fell to Hyuga to ask the obvious. “D-Doctor Akagi? What are you …”

“There’s too much that needs doing,” Ritsuko Akagi said, seeming oblivious to the fact that every eye in bridge was focused intently on her. “So much, in point of fact, that my services are required once again. As Maya said, there isn’t anyone else.” She turned to Hyuga. “I’m going to need some equipment. Borrow what you can, take what you can't.”

Maya felt a cold knot form in her stomach. “Ma’am, what about Lazarus?”

“Lazarus is your responsibility. If you wish I can provide you with some technical advice, but I’ve got other things to keep me busy at the moment. I know you’ve been having problems with the rate of mitosis—I read the reports,” she added at Maya’s incredulous look. “I’ll see what can be done to speed things up a bit. But for now the Dummy is my main priority.”

“The Dummy?” all three operators said at once.

“It's all about combat effectiveness and redundancy,” Ritsuko said shortly. “Hyuga, I can set everything up myself. I just need the equipment. Maya, you should go back to Unit-00's cage. I'll be there shortly.”

Maya didn’t know what to say. She could hardly believe it. Ritsuko was truly a godsend. Suddenly, she wanted to throw her arms around her boss in a hug. “Ma’am, I don’t …”

“Do you want the help or not?” Ritsuko said, her voice cold and business-like. “I do not intend to offer twice.”

Eagerly, Maya nodded. “Yes, Ma'am. Thank you.”

 

The sun had turned the sky a furious orange by the time Shinji got home from school. Misato's apartment was at the end of the hall, and was one of the few that were still occupied. Most people had moved away. As he walked Shinji reached into his book bag for the key card.

The first time he had crossed this door he'd hesitated. He'd never had a home—yes, he'd lived with relatives but it was hardly home—and here was this kind stranger, a pretty dark-haired woman, offering her home to him; he couldn't refuse but that didn't mean he couldn't have doubts about sharing such intimacy with someone he hardly knew.

Shinji removed his shoes at the entrance, throwing down his book bag next to them.

The apartment's layout was simple enough, a kitchen just inside the door with an adjacent bathroom, a large living room which led immediately to the master bedroom and the terrace, and down a short corridor to the second bedroom and a closet.

When he'd first moved in he'd taken the smaller room, but when Asuka had arrived he'd been moved to the closet across the hall.

Shinji hadn't complained. He didn't own that much stuff—most of it fit in a single box which Asuka had dumped in his new 'room.' She, on the other hand, owned piles and needed the space more than he did. He could have moved back, certainly; Asuka had been in the hospital for ages and was not likely to return.

He tried not to think about her—about what happened to her.

“I'm home, Misato,” Shinji called as he entered the kitchen, not expecting her to be there.

The untidy wooden table and chairs made navigating the cramped space tricky. As he came around, Shinji frowned at the sight of a girl's school uniform neatly hanging from the back of one of the chairs.

Carefully, he picked up the thin bit of red ribbon the girls wore tied around the collars of their shirts from where it had been set and examined it.

Why was this here? Had Misato decided to finally clear out Asuka's stuff? No. The uniform was clean, freshly pressed. Not the sort of thing that would have been hanging in a closet gathering dust for months.

Then why?

“I wanted to tell you.”

Shinji looked up and saw Misato standing under the doorway leading to the rest of the apartment. Her dark eyes looked him over then dropped to the uniform. She seemed tired; her expression careworn. “Asuka is being released from the hospital in a few days.”

“Really?” He should be happy for her, and he did feel something, like a small fluttering in his chest that told him he was at least glad she would be coming home. But happiness was not a feeling he could relate to Asuka. There was just too much pain and guilt and regret attached to his memories of her. They had hurt each other too much, too often. Some times it had seemed that everything she did was hurt him. “Is she cured?” he asked. “Is she still—”

Shinji stopped himself before he could say “crazy.” He lowered his head, suddenly feeling very ashamed. Even if he had thought to say that in jest it would be too hurtful and unfair. Asuka was not crazy, she was sick. After what he himself had gone through he should understand. 

“She's ... better.” Misato said, her tone no more cheerful than Shinji felt. “I thought maybe you would like to come with me to the hospital when I pick her up.”

Shinji hesitated. But what could he do? She was still someone important to him. Someone whose life he was partially responsible for ruining. He had a responsibility to her, didn't he? 

“I know Asuka would appreciate it.”

He was not convinced, but could think of nothing else to do. “I … yeah, okay.”

Although it was clearly what she wanted to hear, his answer did not lighten Misato's glum mood. “Thanks,” she said. “I knew I could count on you.”

Her heavy tone finally caught his attention.. Whenever they got a chance to talk she always made an effort to be optimistic, even if it was late and she was tired or whatever the case may be. And she did not have the problems with Asuka that he did. She should be glad Asuka was coming home, and she should show it. But now she seemed as downcast as him. 

Shinji lifted his gaze to meet hers. Misato quickly looked away, shifting uncomfortably on her feet.

“Misato?” he murmured uncertainly. “Is there something wrong? With Asuka?”

Misato sighed, leaning heavily against the door frame. “Not with Asuka. It's ... ” Her face became hard, determined, and she took a deep breath. “There's no easy way for me to say this so I'll just say it: I need you to pilot Eva again.”

Shinji let the ribbon slip from his hand.

Misato quickly added, “I know I promised you wouldn't have to, but the Commander thinks there are more Angels on the way so we have to be ready.”

The words did not sound right to his ears, as if a part of him just refused to process them. Something inside him fell, an awful empty sensation that shared far too much to his grief over Kaworu.

Then Shinji felt pain—not the dull ache of an old wound reopening, but that of a brand new one opening for the first time. “B-But you promised,” he stammered. 

She nodded. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Anger came suddenly over him, strong and unwelcome. It was like a burning wave that washed over him, a rush of emotion that swallowed everything in its path. “You promised!”

Misato shook her head. “I know I did, Shinji. Believe me. If there were anything else I could do, I would.”

His hands clenched tightly into fists. He took a step forward, eyes narrow and angry. “You promised!”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Misato’s voice was soft. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough!” The words were out almost as soon as Shinji had thought them. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was a whisper of restraint, that part of him that felt he owed Misato the chance to explain. He ignored it. “Every time I get in that thing someone gets hurt! Toji. Rei. Asuka. And … Kaworu.”

“I know.”

“Every time! How can you ask me to go back? I thought you understood, but you don't, do you? Being sorry is not good enough! That doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t take the pain away. You are not the one that has to deal with it!”

The corners of her eyes drooped, along with her shoulders. “Shinji, I’ve tried to understand—I really have. But your father, this is his order.”

“He can’t make me!” Shinji bellowed. “And neither can you. I don’t care if you have orders. You're a monster just like my father!”

As that last accusation left his lips he knew he had just crossed a line in the sand. It was a horrible thing to say, especially to someone who moments before he had been convinced cared about him.

Her widening eyes shimmered on the verge of tears and she was taken aback. In his anger he was glad that he could hurt her so deeply merely with words.

“You are right,” Misato tried to keep her voice from quivering, succeeding only just barely, “I can’t make you. But you are a man. And some times men have to do things they don’t like because they are the right things, because people depend on them. Your choices affect more than just you. Your words—” she stopped and for a moment seemed unable to gather her thoughts “—Shinji, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not …”

But Shinji was not listening anymore. “You are just like my father!”

That was the end and Misato recognized it. Nothing she could say would change his mind and she knew it. No matter how she tried to justify her breaking her promise, he would not accept it. He would not pilot Eva again. Visibly deflated, she just nodded and swallowed further argument.

Shinji didn’t watch her retreat, instead picking the little ribbon off the floor and dropping, exhausted and betrayed, on the nearest chair, laying his head into his hands.

 

Less than twenty-four hours after giving Shinji the bad news, wishing she were still locked in her room because she still felt like crying, Misato entered Unit-00’s cage and descended the ladder onto the deck below. On the far side, Ritsuko was setting up her diving gear. There were a few technicians in the cage, all looking very busy, and aside from saluting they didn’t pay her much attention. Misato liked it better than way. 

Her boots hit the metal platform with an empty echo. “So it's true then?” the NERV Major said, putting on her bravest face.

Ritsuko looked up from her work with one of the regulators on the air tanks as Misato adjusted her hardhat while walking towards her. “I'm only surprised it took him so long,” she said with a bitter grin. “Never let a valuable resource go to waste.”

Typical, Misato thought.

After destroying the Dummy System, Ritsuko had been put into detention more than three months ago; she was simply too dangerous, and the way it was done had not allowed anyone to intervene. Misato had been there when the dummy was destroyed, standing next to Shinji as the spare Rei bodies began to disintegrate in front of them. Ritsuko seemed to despise them, asserting that they were just empty shells.

It was one of the most troubling things Misato had ever seen, and that said something since she had actually seen Second Impact happen.

“Can I hold your coat or something?” Misato asked, sitting on the edge of the deck, letting her legs dangle over the side.

She looked into the LCL filling most of the deep compartment beneath her feet and could clearly see the emaciated shape of Unit-00. It was just a torso, one arm, and a head, surrounded by all kinds and gauges of cables and piping tangled in a rather grotesque morass. Without its armor, it looked like a skeleton, a humanoid thing seemingly half-exhumed. “Lovely, isn’t it?” she commented sarcastically.

“Who is to say Man doesn’t look just as abhorrent to God,” Ritsuko replied.

“God created Man in his image. To find Man abhorrent, God would to have to abhor himself.”

“And Man created Eva in his.” Ritsuko straightened up, removing her lab coat; she was wearing a dark, one-piece swimsuit underneath. Misato took her coat off the floor and draped it over her lap.

“Thank you,” Ritsuko said.

“No problem. I like feeling useful. What are you doing down here, anyway?”

“Taking samples. Unit-00’s body is much too frail to be exposed to the air at this stage—the nutrients and oxidizers in the LCL help protect it—so this is the only way to get accurate samples.” Ritsuko checked her diving watch. “But if I may ask you a question, have you talked to Shinji?”

Misato sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

“I take it didn’t go well.”

Misato didn’t respond. She had hoped avoiding having to broach the subject in any detail. Ritsuko would have to be told that Shinji had refused to pilot Unit-01, and Misato had already typed up a report. But written words were a lot less personal than talking about it. And although she was still hurting from Shinji’s anger-filled words, on a much deeper level she was certain she deserved it. That made the hurt more stinging and even harder to get rid of.

“Misato?” Ritsuko prompted.

“I don't want to do anything like that ever again, Ritsuko.” Misato shook her head. It was an effort just to keep up her voice even. “The look on his face—I think he hates me now.”

“Maybe you could have said it differently.”

“What was I supposed to say?” she muttered. “That he had to do it because it’s his duty? I did. I’m not even sure I believe that. I’m not even sure it’s the truth anymore. Was I supposed to lie to him?”

“You should have said what was necessary to achieve the desired results.”

“Like he’s some kind of damned machine?” Misato felt anger She wouldn't really expect Ritsuko to understand, but such expectations hardly mattered when she talked so dispassionately about someone Misato cared about. “Like he doesn’t have feelings? I can’t. Human beings don’t work like that, Ritsuko. I know that doesn’t make sense for someone like you, but you can’t justify making him suffer like that simply because it's expedient. He has a right to be happy.”

“Didn’t we also have that right? But life doesn’t work out that way. We must each do what is required of us, because if nobody did, we’d still be living in caves, afraid of fire. Sacrifice is a part of life.” Ritsuko sat next to Misato and began strapping the heavy aluminum tank to her back.

“You tell Shinji that next time, okay?”

Ritsuko fitted the scuba mask across her forehead. “What about Asuka?”

“Still in the hospital. Quite frankly I don’t know how she’s supposed to pilot Eva in her condition. Have you caught up with her dossier?”

Ritsuko nodded. “I have. She’ll be fine.”

“Section 2 found her naked in a bathtub full of filth, an inch away from suicide.” That particular report still made Misato's stomach turn. “The doctor said she’d been starving, and they had to put her under to keep her from hurting herself. Doesn’t sound like someone you’d want operating a weapon of mass destruction.”

Ritsuko was not moved. “Asuka would not commit suicide. That’s not who she is. Had she wanted to, there are much easier and more efficient ways to do it. No. Asuka wanted to suffer, to punish herself for her failure. She stopped caring about her life; that is not the same as wanting to die.”

“If you say so,” Misato said miserably. “My point remains. How is she supposed to pilot in her condition?”

“We can figure something out. Eva is built on dozens of very complicated systems. All it takes is a tweak to a tiny a part of one of those systems to drastically change the final product. You just leave it me.”

Misato frowned. “Meanwhile, what do I tell Asuka?”

“Tell her what you know she wants to hear.” Ritsuko lowered the scuba mask over her eyes. “Listen, Misato, you can’t keep making everything so personal. Detach yourself a little. Maybe you’ll find that it isn’t such a bad thing.”

That wasn’t likely to happen any time soon, and both she and Ritsuko knew it.

“I’ll hold on to your coat.” She patted Ritsuko on the shoulder. Recognizing a lost battle when she saw one, Ritsuko placed the breathing regulator in her mouth, held the mask firmly in place, and plunged backward into the LCL with a loud splash.

 

Evangelion Unit-01 was a marvel of engineering.

Even with his scientific background Fuyutsuki had always had trouble grasping exactly just how significant the creation of such a thing was. The first five units in the series, 00 to 04, were unique. Though designed and built along a common structure, and essentially based on the same being, all of them had their own unique qualities; all of them seemed to reflect the personalities and minds of their pilots in a remarkable way.

Considering the facts behind their armored exteriors it was perhaps fitting.

But Unit-01 stood alone among them. It—no, she was special. Yui Ikari had seen to that.

Fuyutsuki sighed at the memory, letting all his attention focus the huge head above him. Unit-01 had been pulled out of stasis and he was standing on a skywalk about halfway up her chest. She was lean and massive, covered head-to-foot in thick purple armor; her head a monstrous thing, a pronounced jaw below a single horn located where the nose would be, and triangular eyes like a demon’s.

Originally she had been intended as the test unit, but necessity had dictated that she become the first actual combat unit—the first to ever engage and destroy and Angel. With a neophyte pilot lacking any training no less.

Things hadn’t gone quite as planned. Unit-01 hadn’t been supposed to ingest an S2 engine; Rei hadn’t been supposed to die; Ikari hadn’t been supposed to turn on his masters so overtly. Still, what was done was done. The schedule had to be delayed. Fuyutsuki was sure Yui would understand. She always had. And they had to be certain.

High above him, Unit-01’s stasis entry-plug had been removed by crane, replaced with a new dark plug that was now sticking out of the jack at the base of the skull. There was a ring of light at the end of the plug around which diagnosis cables had been coiled and branched off like tension cables supporting a structure against the wind. It wouldn’t be long before they were ready.

Fuyutsuki put his thoughts aside and turned to his aid. “Where's Doctor Akagi?”

The pretty technician blinked, seemingly surprised by being addressed so directly; Fuyutsuki thought her awkwardness endearing. “She’s, um, with Unit-00. Taking samples, I believe. She left orders to prepare the diagnosis plug and proceed through to acceptable feedback thresholds.”

“Very well.” Fuyutsuki nodded, again looking up at Unit-01.

Patience, he urged silently. They would get there together—or would be destroyed together.

 

The tunnel ended in a flash of light, and when it faded the inside of the Geo-Front’s massive underground dome loomed over the windshield. 

Shinji knew little about the massive structure except that it was basically an enormous half-filled sphere that housed all of NERV's operations underneath the city of Tokyo-3. Central Dogma itself was located in a pyramid-like main building on the center of the huge cavern, surrounded by a forest and an artificial lake which sprawled along the ground. High above them, a cluster of buildings hung inverted from the dome’s apex, their lights shining like stars in a black sky. Normally they would be pushed upwards into the city proper but would retract to protect them during battle. With most of the downtown district destroyed and flooded, these buildings could no longer be extended above ground. 

Several cargo elevators and trains--both for people and vehicles like the one they were on now--spiraled down the sides of the sphere, providing easy access to the surface below where a bridge connected traffic to Central Dogma's parking areas. The soft hue of artificial light fell over everything, giving the steel of the pyramid a shimmering metallic sheen and deepening the green of the forest canopy.

But no matter how incredible as this place might seem to an outside, for Shinji it had been a war zone since the first moment he entered it. And there were always casualties in war.

Besides him, sitting behind the car’s steering wheel, Misato remained silent, her gaze lost outside the windshield. He was still not talking to her, and over the last couple of days had ignored all her attempts at making small talk. The hurt and betrayal were too fresh. He could hardly look in her direction without feeling angry with her. Eventually, she gave up and seemed to decide it was better to keep her distance. That was the smartest thing she could have done. Shinji didn’t want to talk, let alone be near her. And yet, here he was, riding in her car down into the very bowels of that betrayal.

Not for her, though, Shinji reminded himself. He wasn’t doing this for Misato, or because she’d asked. 

The train reached the station in fifteen minutes. Once it docked, the wheel brakes automatically released and Misato put the car in gear, driving it down a ramp and into a narrow roadway. They parked in a lower deck inside the main building itself, a benefit of Misato’s high rank, but it took four more elevators to reach the Cranial Nerve Ward--the deepest treatment level usually reserved for the most serious of mental injuries. NERV's medical facilities were possibly Shinji's least favorite place in the world. And he had only spent short periods there.

Nothing as long as Asuka.

They found her standing at the end of a brightly-lit hallway with large windows, a nurse by her side.

The months of internment had taken their toll. Asuka was dressed in a simple hospital gown that did wonders to hide her slender teenage figure and white slippers. A mane of disheveled golden-red hair fell unrestrained down her back and spilled over her shoulders in two long streaks, framing a young, sharp-featured face. Her sapphire blue eyes were ringed by lines of weariness and sunken shadows, as if she hadn't slept properly in a long time, and her once proud posture sagged into a weary, defeated slouch. 

Shinji felt a dull ache spring up in his chest at the sight of her, something like a mix of guilt and self-disgust.

Those two emotions seemed to have come to define everything he felt about Asuka. From the moment she introduced herself to their class she had become an idol. She certainly had the looks for it, and her haughty personality always seemed to enjoy the attention. To Shinji, who had so many problems, she had seemed strong and happy in a way he could only envy.

She had fooled him completely.

Shinji had been there when the Angel unraveled her mind, and discovered in horror that beneath the Asuka he knew hid a painful tangle of abandoned emotions. Sadly, nobody could go through what she had without changing for the worse. Being alone and forgotten in the hospital couldn't have helped either. His failure to help her, or even offer the slightest bit of comfort, was just as bad.

He wanted so bad to apologize to her, despite knowing fully it wouldn’t do her any good, that she might even hate him for it, but the words stuck in his throat and would not come out. 

I shouldn't be here, he thought.

Misato squeezed his shoulder, then, very cautiously, approached Asuka. Shinji watched her silently, almost too afraid to move. 

“Hi, Asuka,” Misato said, the tone of her voice soft. “How are you feeling?”

The redhead did not look away from the window. Her response was predictably short and loaded with bitterness. “What do you want?”

“To bring you home,” Misato said, still trying to be as gentle as possible. “Unit-02 needs a pilot.”

Asuka scoffed. “Didn’t you hear? I can’t pilot it anymore.”

She turned her head to Misato but looked past her, to where Shinji was standing, and fixed him with a sour glare. Her round eyes bristled with barely-controlled anger.

“Besides, you don't need me,” she spat. “You’ve got the invincible Shinji over there. The Great Third Child! Why would you need a worthless little girl like me?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were worthless,” Misato said. She sounded like she really meant it.

Asuka rounded on her. “My synch-ratio is zero! ZERO! Don't you understand? I can’t pilot Eva anymore!”

“We think there might be a way,” Misato explained calmly. “Ritsuko said she was working on something.”

“What?” Asuka’s brow came up in genuine surprise. 

Misato gave her a little smile. “I’m not up the details yet, but we’re working on it. Ritsuko's a smart cookie. She'll figure something out. If anyone can, it's her. But the main thing right now is I want you to come home.” She gesture around them with a hand. “This place is not good for you.”

Asuka looked away, shoulders sagging, and Shinji thought he could sense something else besides the simmering anger. Her voice turned sulky. 

“Even if it works—if I can pilot again—what makes you think I’d want to go back? I was never happy there.”

“It's not so bad,” Misato said. “We had new carpets put in. And Pen-Pen is still with Hikari, so the fish smell is gone.”

Asuka laughed shortly. Not a real laugh.

Misato pushed on.

“Look, you really don't expect me to believe you want to stay here. I've got everything ready for you—well, everything is pretty much how you left it. And Hikari is positively giddy to see you again. She can’t wait to go shopping with you.” She pointed to the window. “You belong out there, with your friends and the people who care about you, Asuka, not in here. It's fine if you don't want to feel pitied, but do it for yourself, okay? I—we—” she looked back at Shinji “—want something better for you.”

Asuka scanned every line in Misato's face, as if looking for an excuse, and when she found none she turned to Shinji. 

“And what do you have to say about all this?”

Shinji quickly dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling shamed. His mind became instantly blank. He struggled to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. 

“Asuka ... I ... I ... ”

Asuka made a noise of exasperation. “Ach, still as dimwitted as ever.”

“Of course Shinji wants you to come home too,” Misato rushed to say, stepping between them before things could get out of control. “He's here because he wanted to see you. Doesn't that count for something?” 

Although he could not put his reasons for being here in words he could explain, Shinji also couldn't deny that Misato was right. He did want to see Asuka, and he did want her to come home. He just couldn't bring himself to tell her.

Asuka seemed unconvinced. Her lips pressed together and her brow tightened.

“Here.” Misato slipped off the backpack she’d been carrying and pressed it into Asuka’s arms, much to the redhead's puzzlement. “I brought you some clothes in case you want to change. Unless you plan to go around like that. I don’t know. Maybe you want to start a trend.”

Looking at her again, Asuka hesitated for a moment. She glanced back at Shinji, and didn't seem to know what to think of him. Then, her mind apparently made up, she took the backpack from Misato. 

“If you change your mind—”

“I won't, Asuka. I know how important this is for you. But what you don't realize is that your are important, too.”

That did it. With the shuffling sound of her slippers on the smooth floor, Asuka walked down the corridor and vanished around a corner, presumably to change in her room. 

Misato turned to the nurse and asked her to help get the rest of her patient’s things. The nurse nodded and followed Asuka down the corridor.

When they were gone, Misato leaned back against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief. Shinji tried to pretend he didn't notice.

It took Asuka less than fifteen minutes to get ready, which was probably some kind of record for her. Other than the clothes Misato had provided, she didn't bring anything with her. Misato escorted her to the car, even holding the door open for her. Shinji trailed behind them at a safe distance and climbed in the back. Nobody spoke. 

The ride up on the train elevator was, if anything, more awkward than the ride down had been.

Pressing his head to the window pane, Shinji ventured a glance forward—just in time to catch a glimpse of Asuka's eyes in the rear view mirror, looking back at him. But whether she was actually trying to look at him or it was just a coincidence he couldn't tell. He promptly turned his head the other way. He was glad Asuka chose to do the same.

For the rest of the trip all he could do was stare out of the window, feeling uncomfortable as the scenery passed by in silence. 

 

Even if she would never admit it, Shinji had always know that Asuka liked his cooking. It seemed only fair that he make dinner for her on her first night home in months.

The apartment was already dark when they entered. Shinji removed his shoes at the entrance and headed immediately for the kitchen. He hit the light and the space filled with a yellow glow. Misato and Asuka went their separate ways, still not talking to each other. Neither paid him much attention.

He slipped on his apron, tied it behind him, and took out a pot from the cabinet above the sink. 

The water for the rice was just boiling when Asuka walked back into the kitchen, holding a bundle of clean clothes in her hands, and padded around the far side of the table. Facing the stove, Shinji watched her out of the corner of his eye while trying to look busy. He saw her hesitate just outside the bathroom and could almost feel the scowl on her face, of disgust or disapproval, or both. Then she went into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. A moment later he heard the shower running.

Shinji took a deep breath. His body relaxed. 

Some things really never changed. Appearances had always mattered very much to Asuka, and she had been as fastidious about hers as anyone he'd ever met. Shinji still found it strange how someone who could be so complicated could also be so shallow. Yet despite obviously caring for her own cleanliness and what others thought of her, Asuka never, ever bothered to clean up after herself, or showed the slightest consideration to her two roommates. In her mind, she lived alone. 

For a time Shinji wondered if that might have been best. Training had brought them together out of necessity, but once it was over there was nothing to keep her from leaving. She just never did. 

And even though her attitude gave the impression she would rather be anywhere else, with anyone but him, this had slowly become Asuka's home. 

They had butted heads from the start, and it wasn't like they ever got along great. The closest they ever came to each other was being able to talk about some things, mostly school and Eva related stuff, and very rarely personal things. Even sharing their first kiss had done little to ease the stifling tension between them; if anything, it seemed to make it worse. Shinji wouldn't believe it was possible, but Asuka had raged so viciously after that it actually made him regret kissing her. 

That was the moment when he realized he would never get Asuka. She would never see him as anything other than a doormat or an idiot. The best he could hope for was for her to stand being in the same room with him, never anything more. 

And after how things had ended … 

Shinji didn't want to think about that. Instead, he focused his attention on the food—it wouldn't do to burn Asuka's first meal back because he was not paying attention. He began cutting up some vegetables, carefully chopping them into neat little slices.

By the time Misato stepped in the kitchen he was totally absorbed. He didn't acknowledge her.

“Would you mind serving that in the living room?” Misato said. “I think we should have dinner together.” 

Shinji glared at her, wondering if she was merely trying to keep up appearances for Asuka's sake or if maybe this was another attempt to engage him. Asuka already had so much to deal with that putting her in a position where might have to take sides would be hugely unfair to her. She was home, and Shinji was determined to do everything he could to make it feel that way. If that meant putting up with Misato, he would.

His timing was perfect. As soon as Shinji had set down the plates full of rice, meat and vegetables on the low table that was really the only piece of furniture in the living room, Asuka emerged from the bathroom. She was still slightly damp, wearing a loose sleeveless top tucked into a pair of ridiculously high-cut gym bloomers that made her long shapely legs seem even longer; pretty standard housewear for Asuka.

That last observation surprised him a little. He may have gotten used to it over time, but she was still showing a lot of skin.

“We are having dinner together,” Misato told Asuka, who was stood next to the table with a puzzled expression on her face. 

“Why?” Asuka sounded less than thrilled.

Shinji couldn't blame her. 

“Because I say so,” Misato said. “We haven't seen each other in months. I think it's good we get to spend a little time together.”

Asuka didn't argue, though it was clear she just wanted to get this over with.

Leading by example, Misato sat at the table, folding her legs underneath her and taking a pair of chopsticks. Shinji and Asuka followed her reluctantly. The three of them began picking silently at their food, not talking or even looking at each other as they ate.

Such a gloomy atmosphere was to be expected. Shinji was just thankful that everyone seemed intent on keeping to themselves. It didn't last.

“You know, Shinji,” Misato said after a few bites. “This stuff's really good. What is it?”

Shinji said nothing, looking down at his plate. 

Misato allowed the question to linger, then, when it became clear that he was not willing to answer, turned her efforts to Asuka while chewing on a mouthful of rice. 

“Mm, Asuka, listen. Ritsuko wanted me to tell you she wants to see you tomorrow. She needs to do a physical to determine your current condition.”

“A physical?” Unlike Misato, Asuka had the manners to swallow before replying. She lifted her eyes from her plate, where she’d been pushing a piece of meat around with her chopsticks. “Haven’t I been poked and prodded enough already?”

“It's for your own safety,” Misato said, taking a swig of her canned coffee. “You've been gone quite a while.”

“When are you going to activate Unit-02?” Asuka asked.

“I don't know yet.” Misato put the can down. “Ritsuko says we need to establish your baseline first. Activation will depend on the results. For once, I think I agree. It’s not a good idea to try to activate your Eva without knowing, well, if you can take it.”

Asuka returned her attention to the food. Her tone turned sullen. “You don’t think I can, do you?”

Misato's face carried a look of open sympathy.

“Like I said, I wouldn't have bothered with you if I thought that, would I?” she said. “Of course I think you can do it. I've always had faith in you. So does everyone else.”

“Then why not activate it?” Asuka replied hotly, frowning. The expression only deepened the shadows under her eyes. “Otherwise you are just wasting time.”

Misato shook her head. “That’s not it. I’m just looking after you.”

There was no way to tell whether Asuka actually believed her or not. She bit her lower lip to keep from replying, her expression mournful.

Misato was getting far too good at doing this, Shinji thought bitterly; at sounding like she truly cared. She might claim to be looking after them all she wanted, but it was just a self-serving, manipulative act. She had already betrayed him more hurtfully that he had ever thought her capable of, and now she was betraying Asuka as well.

As he silently lifted morsels from his plate to his mouth, Shinji managed to sneak a few glances at the redhead.

Asuka wanted to pilot Eva—she probably would want to even if it killed her—but she was in no shape for it. He could see it in her exhausted body language, in the sullen, resigned look on her pretty face. And the fact that Misato was willing to put her back inside Unit-02 after what happened the last time spoke louder than any words of concern. 

He was holding up some rice with his chopsticks when Asuka shifted her posture, adjusting her legs more comfortably under her. Without intending to, he caught her eyes in his—for a split second two pairs of blue irises, his pale and hers bright, met before turning away from each other.

Not for the first time, Shinji wished he could talk to her. About anything.

Misato finished her dinner first, though given her general sloppiness that was hardly surprising. She leaned back, rubbing her stomach, and turned to Asuka. “Ah, by the way, Asuka, I’ve got something for you.”

The dark-haired woman sprang up and went into the kitchen. She returned seconds later holding a small box with a piece of paper attached to the top.

“Here.” Misato handed the box to Asuka and sat down next to her, smiling excitedly. “Thought you might like to have these back. You'll need them.”

Setting down her chopsticks, Asuka opened the box and stared mutely at its contents.

Shinji craned his neck to look inside the box and saw it contained Asuka's pointy, bright red neural connectors, which she had used as ordinary hair clips. They were as much a part of her image as her orange-red hair, symbols of her elite status as an Eva pilot, but she had probably not worn them for months.

It occurred to him then that perhaps the neural connectors no longer held the meaning Misato thought they did. The thing that had made Asuka so proud was also the thing that had terribly hurt her.

Asuka picked up the connectors in her hands and looked down at them for a very long moment.

Misato frowned, seemingly disappointed by Asuka's hesitation. She had clearly thought the redheaded girl would be thrilled to have such meaningful items back. She scooted closer and reached to take the neural connectors. “Let me …”

“Don’t touch me!” Asuka recoiled, bare shoulders hitching up defensively, glaring at Misato.

“What's wrong?” Misato asked, her voice full of concern.

“Nothing.” Asuka rose to her feet, clutching the neural connectors tightly in her hand. “Just leave me alone.”

“Asuka …”

Before Misato could even finish saying her name Asuka turned and walked away from the table.

The strange feeling Shinji had felt when he first saw her in the hospital deepened into a kind of dullness in his chest as he watched her disappear down the short corridor that led to their bedrooms. It was different somehow, stronger, and completely beyond his limited comprehension. If only he could tell Asuka maybe they could figure it out and it would stop bothering him. More likely she would scream at him and call him stupid for not knowing what his own feelings were.

Maybe he really was.

“She’ll be okay,” Misato said after a moment. “Give her time. It’s always hard getting yourself back together after a fall. And the way she fell … it wouldn’t be easy for anyone.”

But Shinji was still staring after Asuka.

“Oh, I forgot,” Misato added. “You're still not talking to me.”

 

The speaker’s dais was raised a few feet above the rest of the floor. Nakayima watched uninterestedly from the upper terrace, high above the proceedings, as another diplomat steeped up, shuffled his notes and began speaking. Russian, if he remembered correctly. That would explain why everyone seemed to be paying attention to his words.

“Why do they bother?” Nakayima whispered.

The man who had been sitting next to him turned his head. He was old—how old precisely nobody really knew, but enough to have earned a long reputation. He had thinning gray hair and sunken face, lined by deep wrinkles. He might look frail, but Nakayima knew better; Musashi Kluge, Chief of the Intelligence Department of the Ministry of the Interior, was one of the most dangerous men in all of Japan. The word going around the Department was that he only came out when something was going to die.

“That is the thunder of civilization,” Kluge said softly. “We are not barbarians after all.”

Ironically put, Nakayima thought. Barbarians fight you face-to-face; civilization is the one that stabs you in the back. “But don’t they know that what they say here doesn’t matter? Everyone makes deals under the table.”

Kluge nodded thoughtfully. “That is besides the point. Protocol must still be observed. But you do not see this. Because you do not see beneath the surface.” Kluge leaned forward, keeping his eyes on the speaker. “But it makes no difference. I did not fly you all the way to Kyoto just to debate politics.”

Nakayima knew what he meant; he wasn’t too keen on politics anyway. Politicians and bureaucrats owned the lowest circle of hell as far as he was concerned, probably right next to spies. “I’m sorry to say there hasn’t been much progress. Maybe a different Agent--”

“Not an option, unfortunately. You were chosen for your background. Everyone else would stand out far to much to be effective.”

“Ikari is still suspicious.”

“Of course, but your position is purely civilian and entirely legitimate. We could have always forced another spy into their midst. That we did not and instead appointed an open representative can only lead to second-guessing on Ikari’s part.”

“Ikari doesn’t seem like the second-guessing type,” Nakayima said. It was true enough. He couldn’t have summed up his impression of Ikari any better if he’d had a psychology degree, and he knew Kluge wouldn’t mind him praising what was basically an enemy; it’d make the kill all the more satisfying for him.

“Regardless. The best way to hide our intentions is to do so in plain sight. NERV can revoke your position. Doing so, however, will result in severing ties with the civilian administration and, more importantly, its money. And that is the one thing they can’t do without. As long as our position remains firm, I see no reason to change it.”

Nakayima nodded. “But for how long?”

The Russian speaker was now gesticulating wildly with his hands. At least he wasn’t banging his shoe on the podium like Nakayima had read in history books. Most of the chamber looked about to explode with rage, including the European contingent.

“As long as NERV's Special Protection Order remains in place,” Kluge said. “And our friends down on the floor are seeing to that. We know why, of course. Russia wants weapons—the Evangelion. China wants respect, and weapons. America—we are not entirely sure: cheap electronics, cheaper cars, who knows. Fortress America needs us more than we need her; if worse comes to worse we can compromise, meaning we’d be dealing with two vetoes instead of three. The point is, until such time as this situation is resolved we need to consolidate what we know and inquire about what we don’t. Which is why we need to know what Ikari wants with that software he borrowed.”

“What does the ISSDF say?” Nakayima asked.

The Information branch of the Strategic Self-Defense Force was made up of Japan's leading computer experts, and of those agencies that, like the Ministry of the Interior, were all but shrouded in secrecy. If they could not answer a question, the odds were such a question could not be answered by anyone.

“Nothing. It wasn't their project to begin with. And anything related to the Evangelion is so proprietary that it requires years of expertise and far more knowledge than we possess just to make sense of it. The archives section that disk was originally filed under makes it particularly difficult.”

Nakayima didn't understand and said as much. Musashi Kluge seemed surprisingly patient for someone who was not normally required to take questions from anyone.

“The ISSDF,” he explained, “categorized its archive by the order of importance of the projects archived within. These include everything you can imagine—counter-terrorism, government intelligence, military projects, even that Jet Alone incident. Everything.” 

Nakayima had only heard about the Jet Alone incident in half-whispered rumors. Supposedly it was an attempt to oust NERV by rendering its biggest asset, the Eva, worthless. It ended in disaster, and lots of people were hurt. If that was the sort of thing the ISSDF kept in its archives... 

“It's a practical way of doing things,” Kluge continued, “but it leaves up to interpretation what exactly is important and what is not. NERV has never been a threat, not to us, not ever. And in 15 years, and almost half a century before that, a lot of information has been gathered. But because NERV has always been self-sustained and we lacked the knowledge there was quite a lot that was simply allowed to pass into the archive unanalyzed. And other things have been analyzed and deemed completely unworkable. We don't know what most of them are even supposed to do, only that they are no threat. That disk was one of those things.”

“You don’t think he was testing us?” Nakayima kept his gaze on the floor show below them. “It seems to me that he would make a request from us to test whether or not we’d comply. If we’d refused he would know that we were up to something. It’s no kind of weapon.”

“It's no kind of weapon that we know of. I don't think a man like Gendo Ikari wastes his time trying to call other people's bluff. Whatever the information stored in this disk does, he intends to use it. And I have grown weary of trying to guess what he's up to next.”

Downstairs things seemed to be settling down. The furious din that had filled the chamber diminished and eventually vanished altogether. There was look of relief on several of the delegates as they once again returned to their seats. Nakayima took this break in hostilities as a sign that the parties involved, like good politicians everywhere, had resolved to not resolve anything. He turned his head to Kluge.

“So you think it could be dangerous, sir?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I need to know.” Kluge leaned forward, pinning him with a cold, unflinching glare. “I need you to do your job.”

Nakayima wasn’t sure why but he felt a shiver run down his spine. The eyes he was staring into were like those of a predator, sharp, cunning. And utterly dangerous.

“And what about Katsuragi?” Kluge asked.

“The situation has not presented itself,” he said. “I’m concerned that actively seeking her out might arouse her suspicion. In that case she is unlikely to cooperate.”

“She was close to Ryogi, perhaps closer than anyone else. We need whatever information he might have left her before his untimely death.”

“Assuming he left anything.”

“The lack of a final report is troubling. On the one hand it would indicate the lack of any significant information, which we know simply can’t be the case. On the other hand, in the case that such information had been found but not passed along to us, I would neglect my duty if I did not try to search for it. I do not believe the manner of his death had anything to do with his data gone missing; someone like Ryogi would have known danger was closing in and he would have made sure his legacy lived on.” 

Nakayima agreed on the first part—that Kaji either found nothing or found something but was assassinated before he could pass it along. He did not agree, however, on the second part. “But, if he did find something important or incriminating somehow, don't you think that might have led to his death?”

“No, I’m positive. But whether it indicates a shift in his loyalties or simply a desperate effort to unload valuable information, I suspect he passed something to Katsuragi.”

“You don’t want to know if he betrayed us?” Nakayima asked.

“It matters little now. The dead have no loyalties.”

 

The back of the limousine was quiet aside from the muffled sound of engine as it revved and changed gears, carrying the weight of the car, driving along through busy city streets. The movement was barely perceptible, only tiny variations in momentum as brakes or accelerator were applied.

Commander Ikari had been staring out of the side window since they left the conference, his gaze distant but not altogether lost in thought; the Sub-Commander sat facing the rear, holding a small book in his wrinkled hands.

Neither men said anything.

Finally, as they banked a curve, a call came through the intercom from the obscured front seat. Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki reached out hand almost interestedly and pressed a button. “Yes?” he said, his voice carefully measured as always.

“They're done, sir,” came the voice from the front.

“And?” Fuyutsuki asked.

“No vote,” the man said.

“Thank you for keeping us informed,” Fuyutsuki said, and depressed the intercom. Then he closed his book and gave Commander Ikari his attention. “It seems you were right.”

“I know their type,” Commander Ikari said. He had his elbow propped up on the window sill, his hand turned back so his knuckles brushed his chin in the classic 'thinking' position. He did not seemed relaxed, but neither did he appear stressed. He gave the aura of being as completely in control of his own emotions as he was of the situation.

They had only been at the Security Council for a few minutes. Presumably only long enough be seen because it lent the meeting an air of credibility, since it was NERV's fate being discussed. Agreements had been made regarding certain assurances, and loyalties had been reaffirmed.

The Commander, it seemed, had come just for that. When these private meetings were done, they had left. Neither of the two men seemed concerned that their appearance had been so brief that it might have been completely needless.

“The Russian Ambassador, I think, was egregiously formal, all things considered. But I think at least he was being honest,” Fuyutsuki said. “As long as we have a guarantee of dissent there shouldn't be anything to worry about. I'm not sure about the Chinese. They are not the kind of people I feel comfortable dealing with.”

“They are like businessmen everywhere,” the Commander said, unconcerned. “They want what they want and will compromise anything, including whatever principles they might have. Their greed for power is to our advantage.”

“Greedy men do not deal too well with time lines,” Fuyutsuki retorted.

“But they know better than to displease us. What we offer—what they stand to gain from us is not something they would ever be able to do by themselves. And because they know they need us they will not stray.”

“Or so you think.”

“They have made good on their promise so far, haven't they?”

The Sub-Commander snickered, the wrinkles on his features deepening. It was a strangely reassuring gesture. “For the time being. Politics can be fickle, just look at the Americans. Every fours years it's something else, some new issue that was completely irrelevant to the previous administration. At least the Chinese are consistently underhanded.”

“A compliment?” Commander Ikari said, faking a kind of surprise. “From you?”

“Of sorts, I suppose.”

“To be honest, I have always been rather impressed with America's solution to government. Life is ever-changing. We know as much from our studies of nature. But while engineers have constantly attempted to replicate nature's designs for the last century, politicians do not tend to pay attention. Change represents success in nature. Animals within an ecosystem face many challenges, but ultimately it all comes down to their ability to change. Americans have replicated this in a political system. Change—everything changes. Because it either changes, or it dies.”

Ikari turned his head towards her. “Wouldn't you agree, Rei?”

Rei Ayanami almost missed the question altogether. She had gotten so used to being ignored that she felt rather like a ghost, as if she wasn't even present while conversations passed by right next to her. She had been there in the meeting, in every one of them in fact, and throughout the day nobody had addressed her even as a matter of courtesy. She hadn't spoken a word in hours, as none were required of her, and now that she was being called to answer she wasn't sure that she wished to speak.

“I cannot say,” she answered. She had been sitting there watching them silently, listening, but it was clear that Commander Ikari at least had not forgotten about her presence.

He gave her a stony look, neither pleased nor displeased.

“Why is that?”

“Because it is not important to me,” she said, her voice a soft whisper.

Though she knew some people would find the Commander intimidating, Rei did not feel compelled to look away. She sat with her hands together on her lap, a neutral posture, her eyes fixed but not staring.

“Ah,” Fuyutsuki said. “But don't you think you should expand your horizons? Learn as much as you can?”

Rei shook her head in a way that was barely visible. “I am sorry. I did not mean it in that sense. I meant that it is not important to me because it is simply beyond my scope. Whether political change reflects natural change, and whether those things create a lasting ideology are subjects that are irrelevant to my interest. I am not a politician. Considering such things would be a waste of my time.”

“An honest girl.” Commander Ikari's lips curled into the smallest of smiles. He turned his head to Fuyutsuki. “I think she has a point. We are not politicians either, so it's a waste of our time as well.”

“If you say so,” the Sub-Commander said. “But old men are allowed to indulge.”

Her part in the conversation evidently over, Rei went back to being silent. But she attended more intently now in case she was called on to speak again.

 

No one could have known they were humans, their true identities locked behind their numbered monoliths in the darkened room. They towered like gods above a world that had feared them and their ancestors for centuries. They had survived up to now, outlived purges and holocausts and war, and would survive still until the time of Instrumentality. They were Gog and Magog, the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.

"Times wastes away. How much can one man hate his own path, maybe enough to forget his involvement and his responsibility?” SEELE 01 spoke. His voice was deep, mechanical.

"He must pay, and those who follow him as well," SEELE 10 said. "Such filth should not enter the Garden, nor eat of the Fruit.”

"The end is at hand. There is nothing more. Third Impact, humanity’s final purification," SEELE 03 interjected.

“We have defeated the Angels and thus earned our path to the Tree of Life. It's our divine right. Third Impact. Instrumentality, a work in progress, an end to life."

"Only the life of Man, the death of the body, our mortal shell," SEELE 05 offered. “Man has become a race of worthless creatures, restrained by their own individuality, their own AT Fields. Instrumentality must be launched so that Man can be free.”

"So that we can all be free," announced SEELE 01. “But first we need a Judas.”

“He has already been contacted,” SEELE 03 said. “He will be briefed upon our request. Man’s final betrayer.”

 

 

“Hurry up, stupid!” Asuka’s shrill voice broke the quiet morning air as it had on countless previous occasions. “I don’t wanna be late on my first day! Come on! Come on!”

“I’m coming!” Shinji called urgently back. Misato had been right about Asuka, he decided, hurriedly fixing their bento boxes for the day with whatever was handy as he’d overslept and fallen behind on his routine.

“Come ON!”

Shinji finished up, wrapping their bentos, and went to join Asuka. She was already waiting by the door, tapping her foot impatiently, and looking radiant in her freshly-pressed school uniform. The two pointy neural connectors holding up sheets of her shimmering, scented hair stuck out from either side of her head like cutesy devil’s horns. He’d always thought they fit her very well.

Yeah, Misato had definitely been right.

The gloomy redheaded girl that had come out of the hospital just over a week ago had practically disappeared, fading into the background and replaced by the loud, haughty Asuka he’d come to know and, in a way, accept. Shinji was not naïve enough to believe she was completely back to normal, and he doubted if such a thing was even really possible, but at least being around her wasn’t depressing anymore. And it didn’t make him feel sorry or guilty either. It was at least tolerable.

He could live with that—as much as he could live with someone who considered him her own private footstool.

Asuka had been quick to reestablish her dominant position in the household, mostly unopposed except for Misato's rare admonitions not to pick on Shinji. She ignored them and picked on him even worse. But once or twice he had seen her smile and the feeling it sparked in him all but made up for it; Asuka was prettiest when she smiled. He didn't have the guts to tell her that, though.

A shopping trip with Hikari was the highlight of the week. They dragged Shinji along, but only, as Asuka declared, because they needed someone to carry all the bags for them. Hikari hardly bought anything, her budget apparently quite small. Asuka, on the other hand, seemed to want to make up for all the time she spent in the hospital. She maxed out her own NERV-issued credit card and then took Shinji's.

And just when he thought they were done, they made him wait, his arms loaded to capacity, for almost an hour while they went into a beauty salon. By the time they returned he was slumped in a bench, exhausted. But Asuka, pampered and perfectly groomed, seemed happier than he had seen her in a long, long time. 

He thought he would never see that sight again. He thought she was gone, he really did. And to see her— 

“You made something good, right?” Asuka chirped huffily as he handed her a bento, which she shoved into her book bag while he stooped down to put on his shoes.

Just as he did, Misato leaned around the corner into view. “Have a nice day, kids.”

“Whatever.” Asuka rolled her eyes, slid open the door and headed off.

Shinji straightened up, draped his own book bag over his shoulder, and was prepared to follow suit without so such as a curt reply when Misato stopped him.

“Look, Shinji,” she said, stepping fully into the tiled landing, “you can be mad at me all you want, but I don’t feel like being mad at you, so I’m gonna keep trying to talk to you, even if you don’t want me to. One of us has to be the adult here, and apparently it’ll have to be me.”

“Why do you keep harping on me?” Shinji replied angrily. “Asuka can get away with being upset, but I can’t?”

“Asuka is Asuka. I’d expect you to be much more social.”

“Well, I don’t feel like being very social to you.” Shinji hitched up his bag higher and stormed through the open door, aware that he was leaving a disappointed-looking Misato behind.

Asuka was standing in front of the elevator, checking her watch. “That was quick,” she said sharply. “What did she want?”

“Uh?” Shinji came to stand behind her, intently examining floor tiles. Slowly, his anger at Misato began to fade.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Third Child.” Asuka turned to him, her hands firmly planted on her hips. “What’s up with Misato?”

“I’m just …” Shinji didn’t want to talk about this, but keeping Asuka out of the loop was probably a bad idea. “I’m mad at her because she promised I wouldn’t have to pilot Eva and, well, she broke that promise.”

Asuke frowned, indicating she expected there to be more. “And?”

“That’s all.”

“Are you serious? People always make promises they can’t keep. It’s better than lying. You didn’t really think she’d keep it, right? I mean, not even you are THAT stupid, Shinji. She told you what she thought you needed to hear, what you wanted to hear. You can’t hold people to their promises. That’s just immature.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shinji said, though he hadn’t really at the time. “It just feels—” he hesitated.

“Like you were betrayed?” Asuka finished for him.

He nodded anyway.

Asuka scowled to show her annoyance. “Oh, grow up.”

The elevator opened with a ping and Asuka stepped inside, a slight stroll in her step. Shinji stayed behind, wondering if he should bring up something he had wanted to say since she came home from the hospital. So far he had failed to manage the courage, but finally seeing her out and about, acting normal, gave him a sense that if he couldn't say it now he would never be able to. She shot him an inquisitive look that basically made the decision for him.

“Um, Asuka,” he started. “I’ve been wanting to tell you … that Misato was right in the hospital.” He tried a kind smile that he knew made him look silly. “About you not belonging there and about coming home. I’m glad you are—”

Asuka narrowed her eyes, her expression soured, wiping the smile from Shinji’s face. Blue eyes narrowed angrily.

“I don’t care what Misato said,” she said. “Lets get one thing straight, Third Child. The last thing I want—the absolutely last thing I want—is pity from the likes of you. Nothing she said, and nothing you said got me here. I’m here for myself.”

“Sorry,” Shinji said softly, regretting having opened his mouth, as he knew he would. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Asuka stepped towards him; her body language aggressive.

“Do you want to know what your problem is?” she said, her voice rising shrilly. “You take what you have for granted, and you think it gives you the right to talk down to me. But you’ve never had to work for what you have, you just get in your Eva and it goes and you are the hero. You get mad at Misato because she wants you to do what you were born to do. Well, Third Child, some of us can’t choose what we want to do. Some of us lowly mortals do what we can, all that we can, because we have nothing else while you decide you are too good for the rest of us, and what do we get?”

She pressed a hand firmly against her chest.

“WHAT DID I GET? I got my head fucked with! And you sat there and watched and did nothing. What, you thought I had it coming, didn’t you? You could have helped, couldn’t you?” She was screaming now. “So don’t tell me you are glad about anything that involves me. You don't give a damn. You want to make yourself feel better! And that just makes it worse!”

Even had he wanted to, Shinji could not have managed a reply, frozen by the sudden viciousness of the outburst, painfully aware that he had started it.

He’d underestimated just how deeply Asuka’s words could cut him—how much it could hurt to expose himself through what should have been an act of sympathy. He realized then that he’d been wrong about Asuka all along, even about the things he thought he’d figured out; he was so far away from understanding anything about her that they might as well have never met.

And he had no idea how to make it right.

Her venom spent, and seemingly realizing that Shinji was not going to provoke her any further—that he had resolved to simply not saying anything at all—Asuka turned around and entered the waiting elevator again.

Shinji did not follow her. He was still frozen in place, too confused and even hurt to think about what he was supposed to do now.

“Well?” Asuka's hand hovered over the elevator controls. “Are you gonna stand there all day like an idiot or are you getting in?”

All Shinji had to do was take a step and he’d be in the elevator with her, riding together with someone who surely hated him. One step was all he needed to muster and yet he could not because it would mean he'd be alone with Asuka, and then what? Uncomfortable silence? More screaming?

He would only be causing himself more pain.

“I ... I ... ” he stuttered, swallowing awkwardly. “I think I forgot something.”

Asuka's glare lingered on him briefly, as if she were trying to determine whether he was lying and trying to avoid her. For that moment, the very obvious answer seemed to matter a great deal to her. A look of seriousness—something apart from her anger—crossed her face.

Then she turned up her nose. “Suit yourself.”

She stabbed a finger angrily at an elevator button.

The doors started to close in front of him, and Shinji once again thought about stepping in with her. But as she slowly disappeared from view he could not even bring himself to give her a final pleading look. He wanted to take that step and go with her, knowing fully that she probably didn't want him to. Like before, he couldn't decide to do something for himself if it meant defying others.

Nothing good would come out of this, Shinji thought sadly. No matter how much he wanted to bridge the gap between him and Asuka, he would have to accept that she was not willing to do the same. That he had to let her go.

And so the doors closed, and Asuka was gone.

 

To be continued …


	2. Genocide 0:02 / Try Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting chapter 2. Review if you like, though most people have probably read this already on FFN.

Expanded Chapter 2. Thanks go to Big D and Mike. You dudes rock. Lets see, standard legal disclaimer applies, yadda yadda. 

 

Evangelion Genocide: Extended

“I've lived to bury my desires,  
And see my dreams corrode with rust;  
Now all that's left are fruitless fires  
That burn my empty heart to dust.”  
\--Alexander Pushkin

Genocide 0:02 / Try Again.

 

Asuka leaned back heavily against her bedroom door and looked down at the two neural connectors in her hands.

It felt strange having them again. Not really a painful feeling but definitely an odd one—like her heart had not yet decided if she should be sad or happy. Once she could not pilot her Eva she expected they would have shipped her back to Germany in disgrace or simply dispose of her. Without Unit-02 she was worthless. So why had they bothered keeping her around? Why bring her back?

When she had first come out of sedation in the hospital, she had just laid there on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, her abused mind not interested at all in what happened to her, broken. Live or die, it was all the same to her. The nurses did what they could to cheer her up as they did their rounds and cared for her, changing her and washing her. And it was that humiliating treatment that sparked some signs of life in her. She began to fight, punching and kicking and screaming.

The nurses seemed to have wanted her to be thankful—she wasn’t. After a time she wouldn’t let them get near her anymore, even had to be restrained on occasions when her violent struggling made her a danger to herself and those around her. But the anger was all she had. Anger and tears. 

The cameras in her room meant she was never without supervision, but at night, when she was alone and unable to sleep, the tears would come and all she could was to bury her head in her pillow and cry.

Then one day in the middle of another fit as they were strapping her the bed a nurse let it slip how she couldn’t believe that such a nice brown haired boy had come to visit someone like her.

And Asuka became aware of her heart beating once again, aware that she had feelings, and that she did not want to feel this way anymore. 

Things changed after that. She became more willing, wanting now to get better so she could receive visitors. Surely, Shinji wanted the same thing. He had come to her, hadn’t he?

But even that small hope turned into seething anger and bitterness as the days went by and she remained alone. Nobody ever came. She thought it would be better if she never felt anything again and tried to resign herself. At that, like at everything else, she failed, and began to sink back into an uncaring depression. Until finally …

Seeing Shinji in the hospital earlier had made something inside of her stir; a wonderful and yet strangely disgusting feeling she wished she could be rid of.

Why would Shinji, of all people, come to her? And why did it bother her so much that he hadn't done so before?

The answer was painful and obvious. As the Angel broke into her mind it resurfaced more than memories; the agony she had endured watching her mother in the hospital, cradling that stupid doll as if it were her own child while she stood by, ignored, had come hurtling back. Her heart shattered. Everything else—every toxic emotion she struggled to keep hidden—poured out of her until she was reduced to a hysterical, mutilated wreck, wounded beyond time’s ability to heal.

Just like the wound left by her mother’s death had never healed, merely festering and staying with her until that thing dug it up and—

Asuka’s face hardened as anger flickered inside of her and pushed aside the thought; anger at the Angel, at Misato, at Shinji, at her own failure. She clung on to that anger for strength. Misato had brought her back to pilot Eva, not to spend her time dwelling on useless emotions, regardless of how powerful or haunting, like some pathetic little girl.

She lifted her head. The room was dark around her, but nowhere near as dark as they place she came from.

Piloting Eva was all that mattered now. They were working on something, Misato had said—something that might return Unit-02 to her. There was the reason she needed to go on living; the reason she was here. She had to do it. It wasn’t a choice, no more than being alive was a choice.

She knew then what she had to do. 

Asuka Langley Soryu would once again be the designated pilot of Evangelion Unit-02 or she would die trying.

Reaching into her damp mane, Asuka combed her fingers along the thick curtain of hair that hung over one shoulder and lifted it up against the side of her head to pin it in place with a neural connector. She did the other side in the same customary way as she stepped over the discarded bits of clothing, old fashion magazines and other personal effects that littered the floor and threw herself face-down on her own bed for the first time in months.

It was soft and comfortably warm, and the sheets were fresh with a faintly sweet scent of detergent that was a welcomed change to the sterile reek of hospital sheets.

The idiot’s doing, Asuka thought, closing her eyes to let the feel and smell of being home engulf her.

 

Rei Ayanami always sat alone outside of class, and she was always reading a book.

Nobody ever approached her to talk to her. Nobody ever talked about her either, the way they sometimes did about Asuka and the other girls. It was like she didn't really exist to the other students. This never seemed to bother her in the slightest, but Shinji could not stand it. And so when he got out of clean-up duty and saw Rei sitting by herself on a bench in the school courtyard he could not resist going over to her.

He suspected that it was more than wanting to make her company. That because he felt so guilty about having shunned her for months he now was compelled, even forced, to do what he failed to do before.

“Yes?” Rei said as he came up behind her around the bench. Her eyes did not leave her book. 

Shinji choked on his words and wondered how someone so quiet could also be so observant. She almost seemed to feel him; to know he was there. It was weird.

“If you wish to speak you should say something,” Rei said, flipping a page. “Otherwise you are merely being intrusive.” 

“I'm just ... worried about you,” he murmured uncertainly.

“Why?” Rei still did not look up from her reading, her voice remained soft and even—any other girl would have sounded uninterested. But not her.

“Um, well, because people aren't meant to be alone.” To Shinji there was something about the words that sounded hollow. What right did he have to say a thing like that to her? He had spent so much of his life alone that it almost sounded like a lie. And he had left Asuka alone, too. And Rei herself. 

I’m such a hypocrite, he thought bitterly. 

Rei gave no hint she agreed. “Some people choose to be alone because that is the only way to truly find themselves. I am not afraid of loneliness. It is easier to think when no one is around.”

“So what do you think about?”

It wasn't intended as a deep question--he hadn’t thought of it like that--just an attempt to get her talking and opening up, but he realized belatedly that it was indeed one of the more esoteric things he had ever asked her.

“I have been trying to understand.” There was long moment of silence after that, then, “Why do you refuse to pilot Eva?”

Shinji felt an empty sensation in his chest. He wasn’t surprised that she knew, but that same question had been haunting him for a while now and had caused him a great deal of grief already. After being abused by Asuka on the subject he was unwilling to bring it up again with anyone. Her accusation that he was being childish still stung. With that, and the memory of the awful things he'd said to Misato, he could not bring himself to answer.

“I will tell you--” Rei started. 

Shinji cut her off. “Please don't. Asuka's already mad at me for this. And Misato. I don’t want you to be mad at me too.”

There was a moment of silence between them, a moment in which he wished she were still the girl had been so affectionate towards.

“I will tell you why I will pilot,” Rei finished. She closed her looked up at him for the first time. “It is because life without purpose is worse than death.”

“Pilot?” Shinji repeated, suddenly in shock. “You?”

“Yes,” Rei said calmly. “I am an Eva pilot.”

Her reasoning was lost to him, drowned out of his head by the scream and the awful twisting pain in his stomach. 

“You ...” He felt stupid; his words sounded stupid, completely unable to convey just how wrong it was, both that she was being forced—and there was no doubt in his mind they were forcing her—and that she didn't seem to care. “You can't.”

“I can. I am fit enough.”

“It's not about being fit!” Instantly Shinji's eyes widened, his fists clenched. “Rei, they can't make you do this! Not after what it did to you. You ... you ... it killed you! And now you are just gonna go back? You can't!”

“It did not kill me, or I would not be here.” Rei’s calm demeanor stood in contrast to his outrage. He almost resented her for it. “And it did not kill her. She made a choice, as I make a choice. When Unit-00 is ready, I will be its pilot.”

“That's not a choice!” His voice trembled as he yelled, unable to fight the downpour of emotions. “How can you say that? Dying is not a choice.”

Rei had died in her Eva—had died to protect him. She couldn't go back. And if she did, wouldn't that make him a coward? She had suffered horribly because of her Eva, and she had as much reason, perhaps more, to refuse piloting it as he did.

“You chose not to pilot,” she told him.

He couldn’t win, so he begged.

“Please, you can't do this to yourself.” Then Shinji ventured a guess, the obvious one. “It's Father, isn't it? Rei, if you care about me at all, you won't do this, no matter what he says.”

“And if you care,” she said softly, “you will understand.”

But Shinji was not willing to let it go. He owed it to Rei Ayanami to protect her, like she had done for him. He reached down, taking her shoulders in his hands and turned her to face him, half lifting her out of the bench. Her expression was of surprise; her eyes slightly wider than usual, lips pressed together. “Ikari?”

“Please, listen to me, Ayanami,” he said, aware that he was on the verge of tears. “The last time you were in the Eva, you got caught by an Angel. I couldn't help you. And you were in pain, I could hear you screaming, but instead of letting it attack me, you ... you said goodbye to me and you ... I had to watch you die!”

The corners of her eyes sank, as close as she ever got to pity. “Is that why you will not pilot, because you are afraid?”

Shinji nodded slowly. “I am afraid to lose anything more.”

He found it difficult to keep his gaze even with hers. Admitting how he felt was never an easy thing to do. Every time he did thing went badly, particularly if it was someone like Asuka on the other end. But this was Ayanami, and he was worried and afraid; if he said nothing she would go back and get hurt again. 

“I am afraid,” he repeated. “I don’t want to lose someone again. I don’t want to lose you.”

At that, Rei's features relaxed once again and regained their usual neutrality. She seemed to understand. “You should not be. If you will not move because you are afraid, even when those around you need you to, then you have already lost everything.”

Shinji let go of her and took a step back, shaking his head. “Ayanami, you don’t know what it’s like.”

“Do not call me that. That was what you called her,” she added, noticing the look on his face. “I am Rei. I am different.” She raised her hands over her heart. “Even if I am also the same, like you said. And I am not afraid. And I will still move because I have something I do not want to lose.”

Shinji rubbed a forearm across his eyes.“What's that?”

“You.”

He stared at her, stifling a sob.

Somehow that single word carried more with it than anything he could say, and the shock of it was enough to take his breath away. Rei--the name sounded so perfect in his head--was not who he had feelings for, but that didn't mean he shouldn't care. Being different didn't erase what she had done on his behalf. And he couldn't let her put herself in danger while he refused to stop thinking about himself.

He had hurt Asuka because he had done nothing to help her; he had hurt Misato because he didn't understand. When she received Kaji's last message and broke down into tears, he withdrew, and allowed himself to think it was okay because it was not his responsibility. He was just too much of a child to realize. He couldn't see past his own hurt and so let others be hurt. He was always too afraid.

But now the realization struck him like a slap to the face. By being afraid he did the very thing he wished desperately not to. He could not pretend that his hurt was the only one that mattered. It seemed so obvious now Asuka would be justified in calling him stupid.

He had spent all his life craving the praise of others, but never thought beyond his own needs. Never saw the truth.

Other people did need him—Asuka and Misato before and Rei now—Rei Ayanami, who sacrificed her life for him. He needed to decide for her sake. To do the right thing because it was right, even if he didn't like it. Just as Misato had said. And how had he thanked her for her honestly?

Suddenly he realized he owed his dark-haired guardian an apology. She had only been trying to help. And while that did not excuse her broken promise, Shinji should not have reacted the way he had. 

“Excuse me!” Asuka's sharp voice broke into his thoughts with all the subtlety of a hammer. “I hate to interrupt your secret little meeting, but the idiot should be coming home with me.”

Shinji turned his head to find the redhead standing at the edge of the courtyard, staring them down with a glare. He didn't think that barging in and imposing herself like this was a very nice thing to do, but nothing good would come from pointing out such a detail. Rei seemed totally indifferent, not surprisingly.

Feeling like he had settled something with his conscience, he turned briefly to offer Rei a farewell, telling her to take care, then moved towards Asuka.

“What?” she grumbled.

“You know, if need me to—”

“Need? I don't need anything from you.” She looked down at herself and Shinji noticed there was a red stain on her blouse, partially concealed by the jumper's thick straps. “That idiot Nagara spilled something on me. I want you to do some laundry. That's what you are good for, isn't it?”

Not wanting to argue, he nodded. They headed off together. Shinji hoped that would be the end of it, but the silence did not last.

“So, you and Wonder Girl? All hooked up, uh?” Asuka said in a sarcastically syrupy tone as they walked down the steps from the school's main entrance and down onto the street. “I suppose it fits. She's the only one with less personality than you.”

“We are not hooked up. She is not ...” Shinji caught himself, uncertain if Asuka had ever found out what had happened to Rei Ayanami. “She is not interested.”

“Oh, please, I saw the look on her face when you grabbed her.” She turned her voice into a raspy imitation of Rei's softer tones. “Oh, Ikari, your touch is so manly. Take me. I'll follow orders, just tell me what to do, like the obedient little puppet I am.”

“Rei's not a puppet,” Shinji said, annoyed.

Asuka rolled her eyes. “You probably like your girls like that, thought, right?” she said, her voice grating once again. “Obedient? Servile? Dancing on strings without a mind of their own?”

Shinji didn't respond to Asuka's provocation. They walked towards the train station under the last golden glimmer of sunlight, neither saying a word. The streets were mostly empty, only a few students lingered around the shops, buying snacks or giving the nearby arcade a whirl. He recognized none of the faces, and it seemed strange how detached he had become from any sort of normalcy, and how he had never bothered to meet any new people so that he also might have friends to hang out with after school.

They stepped onto the train platform, joining several more students also waiting for the train.

“I can't believe I'm stuck with you,” Asuka said, lowering her head. Her sullen tone seemed to come out of nowhere. “I wish Kaji were here.”

That was a subject Shinji hoped he would never have to talk to her about, and would be happy if it was not brought up ever again. It had been painful enough to hear Misato's distraught cries when she listened to the message on her answering machine. He knew what had happened, nobody needed to tell him, and if Asuka still refused to believe him that was fine. That it would mean living in denial mattered very little if it made it easier on her.

Shinji pressed his lips together, but realized it would seem strange, uncaring even, if he didn't say anything. “Yeah, me too.”

He watched her for a moment. Asuka did not seem to notice his reply and instead stared wistfully at the tracks.

 

The Dummy Plug test system arose upright in the middle of the chamber. It consisted of a tall glass cylinder raised up on a platform with a tangle of cables connecting it to several banks of computers that surrounded it. Aside from the circle of light falling on the equipment everything was shrouded in darkness as solid as a black wall.

“The transfer rate is progressing as normal,” Dr. Ritsuko Akagi announced from her position behind one of the computer terminal. Commander Ikari stood next to her. Rei Ayanami waited in the circle, watching them silently. There was no one else present. Security was a matter of utmost importance this far down inside Terminal Dogma.

“Binary memory patterns are what I expected. The DNA structures have suffered terrible deterioration on the 23rd chromosomal pair. The ribonucleic-protein string is broken in approximately 1,546,876 places. Far too many errors for the computer to fix.”

“I see,” Ikari said. He turned her head from Doctor Akagi and looked contemplatively at the Dummy Plug, gloved hands in his pockets. “We will need Rei’s DNA after all.”

A bitter taste rose up in Rei's mouth. She was not sure what caused it, but it must have something to do with what she knew was coming. Commander Ikari's wishes were not for her to understand, she had never intended that he would explain anything to her.

Still, she did not look forward to being connected to the Dummy System. Though it would be her first time, there was an odd sense of dread in her mind. He had created her ... he could do whatever he wanted with her. It was not her place to object. But that did not imply willing desire. Truthfully, she did not want to do this.

Would he understand her if she said anything? Would it take away from her meaning?

“I can fix the string without the necessity to replace the damaged chromosomes in their entirety.” Ritsuko straightened, slipping her hands into her lab coat pockets. Her voice remained cold, but there was a pointed hostility in her eyes that made Rei wonder if she was the only one here against her will. “However, the neural mapping was always going to require Rei's input,” the doctor added, “since we have to recreate the system almost from scratch. Bringing all the sequencers online alone might take weeks.”

Commander Ikari nodded, taking in this new information. “Use Rei. There is no sense in wasting time if there is an alternative.”

“It will be her first time,” Doctor Akagi said. “The process might not be entirely pleasant.”

Ikari turned and fixed Ritsuko with a stony glare. “Would you rather waste my time than take what you need from Rei?”

Ritsuko seemed unnerved by his sudden forcefulness. “I am not wasting your time,” she said. “I am merely suggesting a different course of action. Also, the computer could eliminate flaws that are common in the human genetic structure. I am not suggesting one or the other. I am merely presenting facts as well as consequences.” She paused. “I know how you would hate to see Rei hurt.”

Would he really?

Rei was surprised by the thought, and suddenly she felt embarrassed that she had considered refusing to obey him. He needed her--that was a fact. He would not ask her to do this unless he believe that it was absolutely necessary. And then, only if there was nobody else who could do it.

She was needed.

It felt wonderful.

“Rei’s genetic structure has no flaws, doctor.” Ikari replied. “You've seen to that yourself.”

Ritsuko fell quiet, thought it was obvious she disagreed. Rei had always liked the doctor despite her sometimes brusque manner. She felt that she shared more with her than met the eyes, and found herself wanting to share a little of what she felt, but the right words were never there.

The feelings were just impulses, things without names that rarely seemed to fit with the rest of the world. Like dreams, they were just there, just hovering quietly beneath the surface waiting to be touched and yet always out of reach. There were definitions for some of them. She had done her share of research looking up things in psychology text books, but it wasn't the same as having solid confirmation of what she was feeling from someone else.

“Are you reluctant to use Rei?” the Commander asked.

“No,” Ritsuko said point-blank. "I don't think she is needed for this. I can do it."

“We do what must be done. We made her what she is, we gave her the soul she has. So, why not ensure that the soul will live on, despite the death of the body we created for it?”

“Is that all you care for? Lilith’s soul?”

“No, not all,” Ikari said. He walked slowly over to Rei and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. They were heavy, much heavier than his son's, and much stronger. He looked into her face and their eyes met. “Rei, do you understand?”

Rei nodded silently.

“Good.” The corners of his lips curled up, a smile. He turned back to Ritsuko. “Now, about the Tablet.”

“That's not a problem,” Ritsuko said dispassionately. “There are no known compatibility issues with our system and the safety shell is still operational. The interface is usable enough. Both Unit-00 and Unit-02 should take it. The pilots are more of an issue.” She looked at Rei. “Particularly the Second.”

“I trust you are working on it,” Ikari said.

“I am.”

“Do not let me regret placing my faith in you.” Ikari gave Ritsuko another cold stare, then turned around and vanished into the darkness surrounding the dummy plug, leaving the two of them alone. Ritsuko seemed upset, her features suddenly tightened with anger.

Rei found it rather puzzling. Where had the anger come from? Had the Commander said something to her that Rei had failed to interpret?

People could be very temperamental.

“Doctor Akagi--”

“Shut up, Rei,” Ritsuko quieted her harshly, and ran a hand through her dyed-blond hair, looking down to examine the computer screens. Rei let her gaze follow the doctor but could not find anything of interest on the screens and turned her attention to the Dummy System.

“There is much around here that needs doing," Ritsuko said. "We will start immediately. Strip.”

Without uttering a word, Rei brushed off the shoulder straps of her uniform jumper and began to undo the buttons of her blouse. By the time she was naked, Ritsuko had opened the front of the glass cylinder and she stepped inside, her heart beating unreasonably fast.

Rei wondered what it was she felt, and why suddenly she was so cold that it could not be explained by her nudity. There was a ringing in her ears; her mouth was dry. It felt like ... the first time she had talked to Shinji Ikari on the train, when she had asked him if she was human.

It felt like what she had come to identify as fear. It didn’t make any sense to her, but the feeling was there. An old, long-forgotten dread almost as if it were coded into her genes.

 

She was late ... again.

Panting loudly, Misato ran the final meters towards the main elevator leading to the Central Dogma HQ, cursing her lack of punctuality and the fact that the guys at the security checkpoint took an unreliably long time verifying her credentials even though she had been screened by the same guy every day since she started working here. As the heavy steel doors closed she managed to slip through.

The door locked shut, and the elevator hummed to life. She struggled to catch her breath before realizing that she was not alone in the small space.

Misato at once recognized the crest on the man’s uniform, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “Ministry of the Interior?” She rolled her eyes. “Great. Just what we need.”

The man could not avoid smiling in amusement, glancing self-consciously down at himself, then turned his black, slanted eyes towards Misato with mild consideration.

“It could be worse,” he said, stretching out his hand to her. “My name is Nakayima Junichi, Special Agent and Liaison to the Reconstruction Council. Basically, the guy with the checkbook.”

Misato shook his hand firmly. She knew who he was but they had never met face to face. The Ministry had no further need for the sort of covert Agent they’d had in Kaji, and planting someone is a civilian role as was the case with Agent Nakayima was a much more direct way of achieving the same result. NERV could not refuse to take him in, as the civilian authority was a crucial and necessary link in the chain that kept everything running smoothly, like the chain in a bicycle, and without which they weren’t going anywhere.

Of course, that didn’t mean she had to like him. As long as he stayed out of her way she didn’t think he would be a problem.

“Katsuragi Misato, Major and NERV’s Chief of Operations,” she said as amicably as she could manage. “Basically, I blow stuff up.”

A hint of recognition crossed the Agent’s narrow-featured face.

“Katsuragi, as in Dr. Katsuragi? The Katsuragi?”

Misato nodded.

“My father,” she said shortly. She was not interested in reviving dead painful memories, and especially not with a Ministry tool. “Can we talk about something else? It hardly seems professional to bring up my family history with someone I don't even know.”

“I can understand,” he said sounding apologetic. Misato couldn’t tell if he was sincere or it was an act calculated to squeeze some information out of her. “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he explained. “It’s just that our fathers knew each other, I think. I’ve heard that surname since I was little.”

“Don’t you think there is enough wrong with the world as it is without worrying about the sins of the previous generation?” Misato said pointedly.

“I guess you are right.” Nakayima was about to say something else when the elevator doors opened. He turned to Misato and locked eyes with her for the first time. “Well, nice finally meeting you. I need to get going. Lots of paperwork, you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, I do, Agent Nakayima,” Misato said, in her most polite voice. “Have a good day.”

The agent nodded and stepped out of the elevator. Misato’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and leaned against the metal wall as the doors closed and she was alone in the elevator.

It was interesting that the MOI bothered at all. The relationship with the Reconstruction Council which ran the rebuilding effort above the Geo-Front was strained enough that a liaison made sense, probably why the government had created the position in the first place. Misato did not believe for a moment that it was his only objective, however. He was up to something. And if she had figured it out, so must have Commander Ikari.

Then why was this Agent still here? Misato thought. Unless Commander Ikari had found a use for him.

She shook her head. Whatever. It wasn’t her problem for the time being—she had plenty of those without worrying about some random bloodsucking bureaucrat.

 

Misato had already left for work when Shinji got up in the morning, so he didn't get a chance to tell her about his talk with Rei and that he was sorry for the things he said to her.

He was disappointed, in a way. He knew it would make her feel better to know that he wasn't mad at her anymore and also he could finally get it off his chest. He could call her cell phone, he'd already thought about that, but this was the sort of thing that needed to be said in person. He hoped he would get a chance tonight.

Setting about his usual routine, Shinji got himself dressed in his school uniform and prepared breakfast. Usually, Misato left a pot of coffee already made, but it seemed she had left in a rush so he took it upon himself.

He placed several slices of bread on the toaster and pulled up some eggs from the fridge. Asuka liked hers scrambled, so that's how he made them. She also liked bacon, he needed to remember to pick some up next time he stopped for groceries. It didn't take long for the aroma of his cooking to drift all over the apartment, and he expected Asuka would come into the kitchen at any moment, already clad in her uniform, to have breakfast.

He has glad they didn't have to talk as they ate, but he wouldn't really mind if she wanted to.

Well, Shinji had never really minded Asuka talking to him, but lately she did less and less talking and more screaming.

She was just so hostile to him sometimes, unwilling to show him even the smallest kindness. Maybe if she would set aside her fangs he could talk to her—really talk—without the fear that she might tear him up like she had before, when he had merely sought to comfort her and share a little sympathy. He wished that he could.

It would give him a chance to share the strange feelings he had, and maybe finally figure out what they were supposed to mean and why she always seemed to be in the middle of them.

He had placed everything on the table, the eggs, coffee, toast, juice, and everything else they might need, but there was no sign of Asuka. Strange—she didn't get up earlier than he did unless she had a reason. He did a quick check and found her shoes were still on the landing; she was definitely still home.

“Asuka, breakfast is ready,” he called, knowing he risked a tongue-lashing.

There was no answer.

Shinji frowned worriedly. Was she sick? It could be. She'd spent most of the previous night locked in her room and the only time he'd seen her come out was to use the bathroom, and she had seemed put-upon—more so than usual, anyway. But Asuka would have let him know if she wasn't feeling well, if for no other reason to make sure he didn't bother her.

He walked the short distance to her bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Asuka, breakfast is ready,” he repeated. “Come on, or it's gonna get cold.”

Still nothing.

“Asuka, are you sick? I can get you something if you don't feel--”

The thin wooden door slid partially open, just wide enough for Asuka to poke her head out. Her expression was sleepy, her long flowing red mane tousled, as if she had just this second been awoken and gotten out of bed, which Shinji realized was most likely exactly what she had done.

Though most of her remained hidden behind the door, he could clearly see that she was not wearing her uniform. She looked at him with a frown, questioningly but not angered in her usual manner.

“What?” she asked rubbing her eyes. Her voice was oddly soft, completely lacking the glass edge Shinji had come to identify with her character.

“Breakfast,” Shinji said simply, pointing a thumb in the general direction of the kitchen. Then, feeling rather guilty for having bothered her, added, “Sorry, I know you don't want to be late for school.”

Even in their present drowsy state, Asuka’s eyes retained their bright sapphire depth as they narrowed into slits. “I'm not going to school, stupid. I've got my first test with Unit-02 today.”

“Oh. ”Shinji blinked, remembering someone—Misato or maybe Asuka herself—had told him about that and he had completely forgotten. He really did feel kinda stupid now. “Oh, okay. I'll go then. Breakfast is done anyway. Just leave everything in the sink when you're done.”

He started to leave, but before he could make it out of the corridor and into the open living room, Asuka called out to him. “Shinji, wait.”

Turning quickly back to her, he caught a glimpse of something strange in her eyes. Indeed, her whole expression seemed different, softer, like her voice had been.

“Aren't you coming?” Asuka said. “To my test, I mean.”

“Uh?” Shinji didn't understand. “I ... I don't think so. I have nothing to do with it. Besides, I'd just get in the way, don't you think?”

He was certain she would agree with him. Of course he'd get in the way, she'd tell him. The only reason she was asking was to make sure he didn't think about showing up and messing things up for her.

It was just the sort of thing she would say; he was sure. But she didn't, and to Shinji's astonishment her gaze dropped to the floor and she bit down on her lip, holding back whatever reply she wanted to make. Asuka was a very direct person, Shinji had realized that soon after they met: if she wanted something she would let you know, and if she didn't like something she would really let you know. But looking at her now she seemed very uncertain about what to say.

Maybe she was sick after all, Shinji thought.

“Asuka,” he said carefully, “why do you ask?”

The sound of her name had a hardening effect on Asuka's face. She seemed to pick herself up and become once again the haughty girl that resided in Shinji's mind.

“It was just a dumb question,” she replied sharply. “And even if I were to explain it, I would never think a little boy like you would understand. Go away.”

With that she retreated back into her room and closed the door.

Something was bothering her, that much he could see. It was a plain as the look she had worn on her face just a moment ago. No matter if she thought he was stupid or a little boy and thus was not worth the effort it would take to explain what it was to him, he wasn't blind. Did she want something from him? Not Asuka--the less she saw of him the happier she was and the less he would bother her. But that look …

Was she sad?

And what if she did want something? What could he possibly have that she might want from him?

If he just knew he would give it to her, he firmly believed that. And did not think he would ask anything in return—it could be anything and everything, and he would give it to her without compromise or regret simply because it was she who wanted it. All she had to do was ask him. 

Of course, Asuka would never ask. And he knew part of the reason he believed any of these things was because he would never have to act upon them. But as long as believed them he would feel better about himself. Like his concern for her.

Ultimately it was all manufactured by his selfishness. Judging by the way she acted towards him, Asuka had come to the same conclusion even before he did. 

That was why she kept refusing his sympathy—she knew she deserved better. And Shinji knew she was right. 

Although the bedroom door that separated them was merely a few paper-thin sheets on a wooden frame, it might as well be a great wall. 

Shinji wanted to break through, like he always did. He wanted to be able to tell her that he did not blame her for who she was, insufferable as she might be at times. That was the person she had grown into. He could accept that if she could equally accept him with all his flaws. 

What did that say about him? Again it was disgustingly clear—he just had to ask something from her. Her life seemed to have no value to him on its own. And it was hugely unfair to her.

But maybe if he … should he go to her test? 

Shinji raised his hand towards her door to knock again, then stopped. He already woke her up; should he bother her again without good reason, Asuka was unlikely to be so forgiving.

He sighed, lowering his hand. Regardless of how he felt, and of how much he would like to make things right with her, he had to face the truth of their situation. Even if he had the courage to knock, which he didn't, Asuka would never allow him to come close to her. Perhaps it was for the better. He did not want to fight with her anymore, and they would only hurt each other in the end.; the best thing to do was to keep his distance.

She would be happy, Shinji was sure, if he did.

Holding on to that thought for consolation, Shinji picked up his toast and, after slipping into his shoes and slinging his book bag securely across his shoulders, left the apartment.

 

The day was bright and warm, the new sun still low in the eastern sky; the sounds of the city were all around him, honking cars, roaring trains, jackhammers, people talking and walking and just living. Shinji tried to ignore all of it as he walked to the train station.

The first thing Shinji noticed when he stepped onto the mostly-empty train car was that Rei was not there. This struck him as odd since lately she had been pretty good at keeping attendance and it wasn't often that she missed school. Together with their talk yesterday, her absence filled him with an overwhelming sense of uneasiness not all that different from the odd feeling he’d gotten from Asuka earlier that morning. 

Did something happen to her? Had they gone ahead and put her inside Unit-00? Misato would have told him if they had.

Would she? After the way he'd been behaving towards her? Why would she even talk to him?

Toji and Kensuke tended to call him ungrateful for not appreciating the fact that he was constantly surrounded by pretty girls, but if they only knew how much those relationships—if they could be called that—troubled him they would sing a different tune. Rei, Misato, Asuka; it seemed all he did was hurt them.

He made up his mind quickly to check up on Rei. At worse he'd be late for school, no big deal. He switched trains at the next station. Rei lived in on one of the most run-down part of the city, in a dirty-looking apartment block that seemed more like a prison than a place for people to live in, and was mostly deserted. On his previous visits he had always heard the rumble and roar of construction machinery nearby, but now there was an eerie quiet in the morning air.

Apartment 402's bell was still broken so he knocked, and ignored the sense of déjà vu—the first time he was here, he had caught Rei walking out of the shower, wearing only a towel around her neck. There was no answer; he knocked again, louder. After another moment, the door opened.

Shinji gasped.

Unlike Asuka earlier, who just appeared drowsy, the girl standing in front of him really did look awfully sick. Her eyes were bloodshot and lidded, ringed by dark circles that stood out in dire contrast to the creamy pale skin of her face; her hair was a mess, and she was leaning heavily on the door, her shoulders sagging awkwardly. She wore only her school shirt and underwear.

“What is it?” Rei murmured weakly.

“R-Rei?” Shinji stammered, keep his concern from his voice. He took a step back. “What happened?”

“Doctor Akagi had to perform a test. I complied as I was ordered,” Rei said. Her voice was so low it was barely audible. “My head has been hurting all night.”

Test? What could Ritsuko have done to her to leave her like this?

“Don't you have some medicine?”

Rei nodded, wincing in pain. “There are some in a drawer. But I do not know what they are for.”

“I could have a look,” Shinji offered, the need to get to school forgotten. “I … I’m no doctor but if you have some aspirin that will probably do it.”

Silently, Rei stepped aside to let him inside her small apartment. Even by Tokyo-3 standards, it was a rather sparse place, comprised of a single room used as a bedroom, a bathroom off to the side, and small kitchen area.

Shinji took off his shoes at the door. The floor was cheap, checkered-pattern tile that had begun to fade and covered by numerous stains, including several that looked like blood. He made his way without stepping on anything; Rei, barefooted as she was, didn’t seem to care in the slightest where she stepped.

She had never been one for tidiness, and so there was also garbage strewn everywhere, mostly plastic bags, empty food containers and school papers. 

She owned only two bits of furniture, a small unkempt bed with a thin mattress, and a nightstand from which hung a trash bag full of used bloody bandages; a little fridge took up a corner, covered with plates, cups and other eating utensils. There was not a single distinctive item in the whole place—just drab and gray things. 

Not bothering at all about her state of undress, Rei crawled into bed on all fours and lay on her side, looking at Shinji as he approached behind her. He tried not to look at her exposed body, at the way her white skin seemed to glow in the morning light. He swallowed awkwardly. When he was standing uneasily by her nightstand she pointed to one of the drawers.

“There,” she said.

Shinji opened it ... and stared.

The drawer was full of pills. Some loose and rattling around, some in still in their clear plastic containers, and some in white bottles. Hesitating slightly, Shinji picked one of these bottles up and read the back of the label. They were painkillers. He picked another. And another.

It was a drawer full of painkillers.

Horrified, his heart sinking quickly to somewhere around his stomach, he looked at Rei. His words became stuck in his dry throat when he tried to speak. “R-Rei?”

“What?” she said, and did not appear to care or understand his sudden trepidation at all. She stirred, lifting her hands to grasp her head as if to protect herself from an unseen something, and closed her eyes.

“Are these all yours?” Shinji managed.

“No,” Rei said quietly, holding her head and shifting her legs. “They were hers. I don’t know what they do or what they are for. They have always been there. I think maybe … I think I know why. It hurts.”

Shinji looked down at the bottle of pills in his hand. He had never known that Rei Ayanami lived in so much pain. She had never told him. “Rei, what did Ritsuko do to you?” he asked again.

“I was ordered …” she shook her head, gasping in pain due to the motion. “I was ordered not to tell.”

Shinji brought down his eyebrows. He didn’t like the sound of that at all—why would Rei not be able to tell him something? Did she mean she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, period, or just him in particular?

He could press the issue, asking her questions until he got the answer he wanted, but looking at her pained expression he decided that now was not the time. Rei wouldn’t hide something from him if she thought he needed to know. Even if she was ordered to. He believed she wouldn’t, at least.

Rummaging through the drawer, Shinji picked up one of the unopened bottles which seemed to be the most recent addition to the drawer, checked the expiration date to make sure they were still good, and opened it. He poured a glass of water from the kitchen, then set it down on the nightstand and popped out a pair of little red-and-white pills.

“This will help,” he said to Rei. “It’s pretty strong. You shouldn’t take more than a few a day.”

Rei tried to sit up on her own, but her painful body language was too much for Shinji and he helped her, holding her gingerly but firmly, careful not to cause her any more pain.

She took the pills from him and swallowed them with a gulp of water, then lay back down on the bed. Shinji fluffed the pillow beneath her head and found himself wishing he could do more to ease her pain.

“Ayanami …”

“I am not her,” she said, stretching her hand into the air almost as if she hoped to catch something. “A name carries a great deal of a person. It is not just a name. It is also a thought. A feeling. I share her name, but not the other things attached to it. Because I am not her.”

Shinji felt glum. She wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. He was very much aware that she was someone else. Painfully aware. But he couldn't help calling her by that name—her name.

“Then how should I feel, seeing you in front of me and not being able to call you what I called her?” he asked. “Because you look just like her.”

“You should grieve, like I wish I could. You are lucky that you can.”

He wanted to tell her how he really wasn’t. Rei didn’t understand—nothing in her limited experience could prepare her for the kind of pain that came through loss. But that burden should not be hers to carry, and he should not make her.

“I have these emotions inside of me,” her voice was vague, the words seemingly addressed to no one. “And despite that, there is something missing. As if I have misplaced something that used to have great value. I know they do not belong to me, and at the same time I know—I feel—like they do. That they are mine as much as they were hers. Is there something wrong with me?”

He knew before opening his mouth that there was nothing he could say that would help her answer that question. “Aya—I’m sorry.”

Asuka was right, he told himself, he was an idiot.

“Do not be,” she said. “You miss her, I know. I wish I could be her just for you. I wish for many things.”

Slightly embarrassed, Shinji tried to recall if he had ever heard Rei Ayanami talk like this before. He wondered how much of it was the pain medication. That she didn't know what was in the bottles probably meant she had never taken any before—her tolerance would be very low, if she even had any.

Rei continued, her voice growing increasingly distant, “I wish … that I could understand why the Second does not like me. I wish I could know why you cry. I wish I could escape.”

“So do I,” Shinji said. 

 

“What else ...” she managed, but it was clear her thoughts were scattered, her eyes loosing focus. “What else … do you wish for?”

Shinji waited.

Rei's arm fell limply to her side. Within minutes of closing her eyes, she had fallen asleep. Her hands were still tensely clutching the bedding so Shinji bent over her and opened her fingers gently, and stared at her beautifully pale form. Her face became more relaxed now, resting on the linen that was as white as her skin.

Finally she seemed to have found some peace.

Straightening up, Shinji took a deep breath. “Ayanami,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear him—the only reason he spoke at all. “I wish you hadn't done what you did. I wish you had just let me die.”

He turned and closed the pill drawer, then came back to the blue-haired girl on the bed. “But you were right. I can't just keep thinking of myself. I know you need me. And that is why … that is why I will pilot Eva. I have to face it—like you do, like Asuka does. And even if it doesn't help, I think the least I can do is try.”

The room was quiet. Shinji stood there for a while, thinking that maybe he should stay with her until she was feeling better. He wouldn’t be missed at school—the lectures were always boring and always the same, and Kensuke would fill him in if he missed anything.

The Class Rep. would surely give him an earful, but he knew she would understand once he told her he’d been looking after Rei Ayanami because nobody else would.

 

“I am not happy with Rei’s condition,” Gendo Ikari said as he walked down the hallway to his office, his gloved hands in his pockets, not looking at the short haired blonde woman that walked alongside him. His flat voice denoted no sign of anger, but Ritsuko could tell he was very much displeased.

That was going to happen regardless so it didn’t concern her much. Rei was his pet, and masters were always upset when something happened to their pets.

“I told you it was not going to be pleasant,” Ritsuko said calmly. “Mapping the neural pathways requires a delicate touch. With much of the equipment having to be scrambled on such short notice there was not much that could be done. Besides, it was her first time. The lack of any such previous stimuli makes it worse than it really is.”

“You did not have to torture her,” Ikari said darkly.

Ritsuko felt a twinge of pleasure course through her like electricity. “I did no such thing,” she said at once. “If I really wanted to … ”

“You would not be so obvious about it?” Ikari cut her short. “My good Doctor, I know you better than that. If you wanted to hurt her you would not care if you were being obvious or not. You would just do it. Exactly in the same manner as when you destroyed the Dummy.”

Ritsuko had never been worried about him finding out—telling Rei to keep quiet about the experiment had other reasons and she was so quiet anyway it was unlikely she would ever complain to anyone. It did bother her that Ikari could figure her out so easily.

“Furthermore,” Ikari continued, coming to a stop and finally turning to confront her, “you are responsible for her.”

Ritsuko nodded, meeting his eyes evenly. How she despised this man and yet she was still by his side. “I know. I have always been responsible for her.”

“Medically yes,” Ikari said, his voice rock-hard. “But should anything happen to her, you will be held to direct account. And this time I do not think I will be so lenient as to simply imprison you. I can ill afford such childish behavior even from such a valuable asset as yourself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Ritsuko replied sharply, doing her best not to sound angry. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. “Is that all? I have Unit-02 to attend to.”

“For now it is. I understand Unit-02’s activation and testing will take most of the day, but once that is done I want you back to working on the new Dummy. I do not like lacking a proper backup any more than I like not having a working Evangelion. I should hope to have it ready before Unit-A, just in case.”

“There is always Unit-01,” Ritsuko said. “It is fully operational should your son cooperate.”

“We can't force him. Unit-01 refused the Dummy before, and in doing so refused me. Shinji has to choose on his own.”

Ritsuko, possessing such an analytical mind as she did, thought the chances of that were next to zero. “What if he chooses not to?” 

Ikari seemed to consider his answer carefully, for he took a short moment in which he looked her over from behind his spectacles before saying, “I hope it does not come to that.”

 

“Locks one through fifteen secured. Hydraulic pressure remains constant. Proceed with safety checklist through item four-twenty-three.”

“All personnel remain on alert status orange.”

The mechanical voices echoed across the enormous metal and concrete box that formed Unit-02's containment cage as the steel mesh gate to the shuttle elevator opened with a loud racket, allowing its single red-clad passenger to exit.

Asuka, clad in her form-fitting plugsuit, sighed heavily and stepped onto the deck.

The garment had once been as much a symbol of her status as the neural connectors in her hair. It was almost entirely red, with two black stripes running down the outside of each thigh and black accents below her armpits, extending down the inside of her arms all the way to the wrists. The hard cups over her budding breasts, which she had once padded to make herself appear more voluptuous, were highlighted in orange, making them stand out even without any enhancement.

She used to love the way the flimsy material wrapped tightly around her slim body and enhanced her young, supple curves. It was basically like wearing a second skin, and for some reason it always felt warm and smelled like the inside of her Eva, and when she wore it there was no ignoring her presence.

But now, as she walked towards the slick, armored shape of Unit-02, she felt naked. She stood out as the girl who failed miserably, and she had never felt such disgust at being the center of attention.

The containment cage was brightly lit and fairly busy with activity. Wide catwalks and gantries ran along the perimeter of the cage, crisscrossed the large space within, and wrapped around the Evangelion allowing maintenance access.

There were several technicians working on bulky machines on the catwalk in front of her, doing what she didn’t care to know. She had never bothered acknowledging them and other than the so-called Bridge Bunnies she couldn’t address any of them by name if she wanted to. Why should she? After all, they were just worker bees, drones without faces, and she was the queen and it was their job to tend to her every need.

And now the queen was dead, and the drones looked at her with sympathy and promptly moved out of the way.

Asuka scowled at them bitterly, wishing she could spit at them so they would stop looking at her just like Shinji did.

That was how people looked at you when they thought you were useless—when they wouldn’t come to see you in the hospital. A look that said, “Too bad you are alone, Asuka. Too bad you had to lose everything that gave meaning to your life. Too bad they couldn’t let you die.”

Really, too bad.

She came to stand under the massive shadow of her once-beloved Evangelion and raised her head. Like her it was clad in red, in its case shiny plates of armor fitted to its slender frame. It had four eyes arrayed in pairs on either side of its face and an oval-shaped head.

Two shoulder-mounted pylons held hidden weapons in addition to its standard-issue progressive knife. It was secured to the cage by a large restraining harness anchored with thick hydraulic-driven bolts; a bulky mechanism was fitted to the back of its neck, above the armored insertion jack for the entry-plug.

The plug itself was held in its ready position, lying on a cradle on the top of the mechanism so that it could be secured into place just inside the rim of the jack by a crane standing nearby.

As a machine of total destruction, Unit-02 was both fearful in symmetry and graceful, and had the distinction of being the first Eva meant for production. It had been her pride and joy, her everything. Losing it had felt like losing someone dear to her all over again.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t see you there.”

Asuka turned just as Shigeru Aoba came walking around the nearest gantry. He had a clipboard in his hands, probably some sort of checklist, and was clearly busy, so she was more than a little surprised when he stopped what he was doing and headed over to her.

He was much taller than Asuka and towered over her. She refused to look up at him and returned her gaze to her Evangelion. If she ignored him he might leave her alone.

“How are you doing?” Aoba said.

“Fine.” She put enough spite in her voice to make it clear she did not want to talk to him. Who the hell did he think he was?

He hesitated for a second, then bent over so he could speak more privately to her. “Listen, Asuka, I know I really have no place saying things to you, but you have to know--” Aoba smiled at her pleasantly “--that we are all very proud of you. And that we are all rooting for you.” 

Her stomach clenched.

Asuka’s eyes widened as she turned her head to him. Something became stuck in her throat—she had not expected that somebody might try to support her. Why should she? She had no illusion about what would happen, and while she was resigned, she had not expected ... kindness.

Pride—they were proud of her? It almost felt alien.

She took a deep breath, the extra air in her lungs bringing up her shoulders from their slump. Even her back straightened.. The sudden encouragement surprisingly managed to bring back a little of her own pride out of the pit of despair. She would have never been able to thank him, to even admit that she was thankful that at least one person might not think of her as a harpy, but she got the feeling from him that he didn’t expect it from her.

“We want you to do your best, okay?” he said, noticing her reaction. He smiled down at her. “Give it everything you've got.”

Though she was at a loss for words and was not sure she shouldn't just start screaming at him for the insolence of actually talking to her, Asuka nodded halfheartedly.

After returning the gesture with much more enthusiasm than the struggling Second Child, Aoba finished the rest of his routine under her strangely watchful gaze and finally headed off to take his position in the control room. 

Once he was gone, the spark of pride served only to contrast that other feeling she had since waking up from her coma, and from even further back—from when she had moved in with Hikari, when her synch-ratio failed, when she tried to kiss Shinji and afterward when he failed to acknowledge her, when she came from Germany, in Germany.

Lately, the feeling was most intense when she saw Shinji and Wondergirl together. But she'd had it for so long it became a part of her, leaking like acid into everything she felt or thought. Unlike anger or pride, both of which bolstered her, this feeling tore her down and made her want to crawl into ball and weep.

Loneliness—utter, desperate loneliness.

Asuka rubbed her hands over her eyes, thinking she might have started to lose it without noticing. She glanced down at the back of her gloves and saw no tears on the red material. She swallowed a sniffle and looked back up at Unit-02's familiar form.

Yeah, she told herself, no illusions. 

If only Shinji had been here she might have been able to put on a brave face for him, to keep his opinion of her from eroding any further, but what was the point? Asuka knew in her heart that she was nothing to him. Probably not even a friend. 

Once the entry-plug was fitted into position, the small groves along its rounded end became caught on the insertion jack, locking into place. 

“Eva-02 entry-plug in place,” an electronic voice said from overhead. “Pilot access granted.”

Asuka nodded grimly. This was the moment she had anticipated ever since coming out of the hospital—anticipated and dreaded.

Her plug-suited body felt heavy, as if made out of lead, but only half as heavy as her heart. Asuka climbed the series of ladders on the loading mechanism that gave her access to the entry-plug’s open hatch. Inside was a long, cylindrical space with an elaborate high-tech command chair situated about halfway down its length.

It was a comfy fit, custom made for the shape of her body, and comprised of an impact seat with two control yokes on either side of it and a console in front, nestled between her legs. The targeting computer was located above and behind her head. Asuka hoped she would never have to peer through that thing again.

Asuka nuzzled her red-clad bottom on the seat, letting her hands drift to her sides and grip the control sticks that had once felt so right they were practically an extension of herself. Now they were stiff and hard and tugging on them did nothing. 

“Asuka, we are ready to begin,” came Ritsuko’s voice through the communication system.

When the entry-plug was properly secured she was plunged into darkness. The sound of pouring liquid filled the space and she felt the cold grip of the LCL reach her through her suit. She took a deep breath and tried to relax as she was submerged in it.

“Initiate primary contact.”

Asuka tried to ignore her.

Feeling the darkness closing around her, she brought up her legs and wrapped her arms around them so that she was curled up in a ball. Her heart, like the rest of her self, felt heavy, like she knew it would, because she didn’t belong here anymore.

This was the place where everything had gone wrong. She had climbed in here and gone into battle knowing that she had to prove something, but she had never expected to—danger was something she had accepted but—

She had been broken. Her mind had been shredded into tiny, painful ribbons; her beating heart ripped from her chest. And she hadn’t even been given a chance to fight back. She had been totally, completely helpless as the Angel had come inside her and … and raped her.

Rape—the word and the sensation it carried made Asuka shudder. That was the only way to come to understand it. She was raped.

The Angel hadn’t touched her, but emotionally it had forced itself into her and torn her open and defiled her. Asuka had often wondered, when she dared think about the subject at all, if it might be less painful the other way around, if her body could have healed from such an assault more readily than her mind. It hardly mattered. Either way she had been scarred for life.

“Voltage is nominal,” somebody called from the control room.

“Pulse and harmonics are stable.”

“Initiate second set connections.”

The darkness flashed into a rainbow of swirling colors as Unit-02 became active and the entry-plug walls transformed into a clear canopy that allowed her an unobstructed view of the world—the confined space of the concrete cage—beyond.

“All links connected. Eva Unit-02 is now active.”

“Beginning complete systems check.”

Several minutes went by. Asuka stared blankly outside her canopy, trying not to think about anything.

“Asuka, your synchrograph is extremely erratic. This is not going to work if you can’t focus. Try to clear your head,” Ritsuko said coldly. “You need to be able to open yourself up to the Eva. It’s the only way to clear the starting indicator.”

Her head was already as clear as she could make it. There was nothing else she could do. “I’m trying.”

Useless. She was useless. Nothing would ever go back to the way it was, and all those people outside wishing her well were just wasting their time. They shouldn't bother, like she shouldn't have bothered leaving the hospital. 

Asuka curled up ever tighter and more desperately, holding her head in her hands, twisting her feet one on top of the other and curling her toes. Maybe if she made herself really small she would just disappear.

She could not believe she had once been happy to be chosen as an Evangelion pilot. She wished now that she never had, and that her Mama had loved her enough to take her along with her as she died. And she wished more than anything that the broken pieces of the proud, arrogant girl she had once been could be swept aside so she could forget and finally resign herself without suffering.

“Try harder.” Ritsuko admonished. “If you can’t do it, your status will have to be revoked and you will be replaced, this time for good. I know you don’t want that. I don’t want that either. So, please, for your sake, concentrate.”

“I said I’m trying!” Asuka wailed sharply, twisting her mouth into a feral snarl. “Do you think I want to be replaced? I’m trying!”

But, despite her tone, she already knew it was hopeless, and she wished they would all just stop talking to her and leave her alone for good.

Asuka closed her eyes and let her head sink deeper behind her knees. “Mama, I’m trying …”

In the gloom, there was not even an echo to carry her words.

“I'm trying ...”

 

Commander Ikari stood in one of observation decks, of which Central Dogma had many, peering intently on the show of light outside the window. The forest stretched below like a giant fungus, and surrounded the lake in a watery cauldron. Above, the huge dome of the Geo-Front, like an extension of Heaven, emanated the light by which life in Central Dogma was sustained. This was his home, his fortress.

“The disk has been delivered to the Chinese Branch,” Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki said.

“Were the safety measures removed?” Ikari asked, not even turning to look at his aide.

“Every one of them.” Fuyutsuki had confirmation of that very fact earlier in the morning from Doctor Akagi, and already submitted a report. Ikari had doubtlessly read it, he didn’t have to ask. The Commander would not let such a detail slip.

The question on his part was simply a matter of the protocol of command: written words were impersonal, having the courage to say what you wrote meant something.

“Good,” Ikari said. “How is the current situation with the Council?”

“Things are moving as planned,” answered Fuyutsuki. “Rather, not moving. They are giving the MOI such a big headache. But I am afraid they will only be able to run interference for us for so long before it becomes tiresome. Once they realize we have no intention of helping them they will drop all pretense.”

“It will do.”

Fuyutsuki nodded, hoping his superior was right. Politicians were so hard to predict even for someone like Gendo Ikari. Their opinions and dispositions always seemed to change with the wind. It would not be good if they suddenly decided that NERV was not worth having as a friend.

“And the Second Child?” Ikari asked.

“What we expected so far,” Fuyutsuki said plainly. “She is much too damaged. Quite frankly, I don’t understand the necessity of this test.”

“I do,” Ikari said. “There would be no need to expose her if she can make it work on her own.”

Fuyutsuki nodded. Now he understood. “The weapon we know for sure we can control is better than the weapon we only think we can.”

“Yes, precisely,” Ikari said. “In hindsight it may seem like a waste of already stretched resources, but Doctor Akagi believed it was worth it in the interests of the pilot’s safety. I am rather uninterested on whether or not it was waste at this point. All we can do now is prepare the alternative. As far as Unit-02 is concerned it will have to be enough. And Lazarus?”

“Lieutenant Ibuki assures me of our progress,” Fuyutsuki said. “She agrees that speeding the mitosis process further is possible, but advises against it. Having Doctor Akagi take a look at her work seemed to have had both a stimulating effect and acted as a reprimand. I am still more concerned about Ritsuko to be honest.”

“I am sure there is no need to worry about her,” Ikari said, turning his head slightly, the rest of his body remaining perfectly still. “The options available to her have been made quite clear. We have her cooperation…for the time being,” he added in a tone that left no doubt what he would do if the blonde woman disobeyed him again. “Anything else?”

Fuyutsuki hesitated, but he had learned that Ikari had no problem with him voicing his doubts to any plan he might have. In fact, he knew that criticism on his part, to a certain extent, was welcome.

“Yes. Is it wise to allow the Chinese access to the coded information in the Tablet?”

“The Chinese government owes me a couple of favors,” the Commander replied. “As long as they do as they are told there will not be a problem. Our schedule will take care of that.”

Ikari turned once more to face his fortress through the window. The light, the dome, the forest and lake: his own small world, a world in which he was god. “And I looked and behold, a pale horse. And the name of he that sat on it was Death. And Hell followed with him.”

Fuyutsuki was amused. Before Second Impact, scientists like them did not used to think of the world in terms of heaven and hell, or good and evil; science was a gray area—the same science that created the nuclear bomb gave humanity near unlimited energy for more than half a century.

When he was teaching in Kyoto, that was the paradigm Fuyutsuki had believed in. But the years after Second Impact, the horrors they witnessed and experienced caused a fundamental shift in the way they looked at the world. Hell did exist, they were living in it. And if it existed, so did heaven. 

“It is good then,” the aging Fuyutsuki added, “that we are not in the business of hell. And, I suppose that it is also good that the one who sits on the horse is not a he.”

Ikari just nodded gently. After all this time Fuyutsuki could still tell his love for her was as strong as it had always been. But it wasn’t serendipity that they held onto the reins of the horse in her place like they did now. It had been arranged like this.

“I have also been meaning to talk to you about Rei,” Ikari said, a graver noted echoing in his voice.

This was perhaps the most serious matter of the conversation. Fuyutsuki stepped closer, saying, “I’m listening.”

 

 

Looking at the video feed from inside Unit-02, all Misato could see was the front of Asuka’s knees and her mane of red hair.

She had been sitting curled up like that for hours now, not moving or saying a word as Ritsuko updated her with her progress—if it could be called that. Misato had once heard it said that the brightest and hottest flame burns out the quickest. That had been the case with Asuka, and she was no closer to making it past the starting indicator than she had been at the beginning of the test, despite Ritsuko’s assurances that she could do it.

Watching the girl on the monitor was as frustrating as it was heartbreaking, because even though she had once thought Asuka should learn a little humility and stop treating those around her like garbage, she had not wanted to see her broken up so badly.

“The problem is entirely psycho-somatic,” Ritsuko said. She too had been studying the monitor, and now leaned back on her chair. “It’s all in her head.”

“After what the Angel did to her …” Misato trailed off. She remembered the yelling and the screams.

“Regardless. There is only so much we can manipulate the system. But for all we can do with the interface and modifications to both software and hardware, it is Asuka herself who needs to push through. She’s the only one that can do it. That’s where the problem lies. We can’t help her if she can’t help herself.”

The control room was arranged in two banks of computer terminals, the first along the front wall, just a few feet away from the heavily reinforced glass that overlooked the Eva’s test cage, and a second further back. Misato stood close to this second bank, hunched over Ritsuko’s chair. While several of the monitors were focused on Asuka, several others showed her telemetry data, relayed in complex graphs that required engineering degrees to properly understand.

The one graph Misato did recognize was Asuka’s synchrograph, a jagged mess of lines all jumbled together that seemed to her a rather accurate, if abstract, depiction of the redhead’s mental state.

On the top right corner of this was a number: 4.4%: Asuka’s synch-ratio, far below the minimum required to operate her Eva—the designated starting indicator, located at 12%, now the lowest it could go with the entry-plug already at its maximum depth.

Misato took her eyes from the monitor and looked out of the observation window high above the brightly-lit steel and concrete box that served as a cage for Unit-02. “Do you think she’s given up?”

Ritsuko shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I guess it’s good that she’s much more determined than Shinji.”

“They are not all that different, you know,” Ritsuko said. “For both of them, their personal problems dictate how they relate to others and, therefore to their Evas.”

Misato had a hard time believing that. If they were really, as Ritsuko put it, not all that different, then they wouldn’t find it so hard to get along with each other. She had thought, hoped even, that some of their personalities could rub off on the other so that they might find some middle ground, but that had proven impossible. 

“I don’t think they are alike,” she said. “Shinji is much more withdrawn than Asuka.”

“There are some superficial differences, but they are nothing more than skin deep,” Ritsuko said in a flat, rather unemotional tone as if she were talking about something she’d read in a textbook. “Shinji’s defense mechanism is to be passive, moving away from people. Asuka is aggressive, actively pushing people away. Both these defenses stem from the same issue--that is the fear of being hurt by others. In that, Asuka is like a cat in a box.”

Misato frowned, confused. “How so?”

“If you put a cat in a box, it will be afraid at first. It will wail and scratch and try to get out.” Ritsuko hadn’t taken her gaze away from the image of the redhead on the screen, but now she see was staring intently, concentration evident in her brown eyes. “But after a while it will get used to the dark and will grow more comfortable there. It will feel safe and will stay without a struggle. Then, if you open the box and try to take the cat out, it will fight and it will hurt you, lashing out at you until you let it go and close the box. Most people will just let the cat be and eventually it will starve.”

An odd sadness came over her voice as she said this. “But someone who cares about the cat will endure the pain and hold on to it, and the cat will come to feel safe with that person and accept them and it will stop lashing out because it will no longer be afraid.”

“Are you saying someone needs to take Asuka out of her box?” Misato said. She was interested now; she grabbed a nearby chair and sat down next to the doctor. 

She didn’t really think Asuka was like a cat—animals couldn’t choose how they treated people—but Ritsuko, who lived alone except for her cats, knew more about those kinds of behavior than she did.

“No,” Ritsuko shook her head. “The Angel ripped the box away from her. And she was left exposed, frightened, and had nobody to feel safe with. That really is the heart of the problem.”

Misato thought she understood. She cast a soft glance at the girl on the screen—Asuka looked so small like that. “So you think she’s afraid?”

“Honestly, I think she’s terrified. That is why she lashes out the way she does. To keep people away from her because in her mind they will only hurt her. That is a natural response: all animals fear pain. And that fear also makes her unable to synch with the Eva. She can’t open up to anyone or anything. That includes Unit-02.”

Misato sighed. “Well, if all she needs is someone willing to let her hurt them—”

“It’s much more specific than that. And I don't think it's about hurting other people. The willing desires of the human heart are not something that is ever defined in general terms.” She crossed her stocking-covered legs. “Desire is hard to understand. We can’t test it or measure it. We can only live with it.”

“Um.” Misato twisted her lips sardonically. “You know, even when you talk about things like these you always sound so detached, like you are talking about a disease or something.”

That comment was meant as a slight insult to Ritsuko’s regular heartlessness, but her face remained unmoved. If she was offended at all by it, she didn’t show it. “I am a scientist not a therapist.”

“Nobody will ever argue otherwise.”

“The point is, even understanding what causes Asuka’s hubris doesn’t mean we can fix it,” Ritsuko said, ignoring Misato’s tone. “That’s something only she can do, and that only if she wants to.”

“Ritsuko, you are not seriously suggesting that she wants to feel like this.” Misato pointed a finger at the screen. “Look at her. How could anyone want to live like that?”

“She hasn’t told you to stop yet,” Ritsuko replied flatly.

Misato felt hot outrage at that statement, not only because it reaffirmed her view of Ritsuko as being less than humane but also because she was right; Asuka hadn't asked them to stop.

“But I am not saying she wants to, either,” Ritsuko said. “However, I think for her the alternative is not worth living for, either. It has to be her way or no way at all. Shinji does the same. They both think it’s only themselves that matter—their own hurt. They are unable to look at themselves through the eyes of others. And as they are unable to understand how others see them, they are also unable to understand how to see themselves.”

It was rather hypocritical for someone like Ritsuko to talk like this; she was guilty of the same thing she was accusing Shinji and Asuka of. And so was Misato herself.

So, while Ritsuko might be right, and Asuka was responsible for her own misery, Misato owed it to her ward to do what she could to lessen that feeling—and clearly they had gathered as much data as they could for today, since Ritsuko had gone through nearly her entire checklist. There wasn’t much of a point prolonging it.

“I think we should call it a day,” Misato said, firmly enough to make it known it wasn’t just an opinion. She rose from her chair. “I’ve got time between shifts. I’m taking her home.”

Ritsuko’s expression told her she disagreed, but she said nothing. She nodded her assent. Around the control room, the weary faces of the small cadre of operators who had been keeping watch on Asuka's data without a break appeared relieved behind their computers. 

Once the order was given, termination procedures were initiated, engulfing the room in a flurry of activity.

Groaning with effort, Ritsuko stood up next to Misato and returned the other woman’s sympathetic frown with a look that said that her sympathy was not necessary or wanted. That didn’t prevent Misato from thinking Ritsuko was pushing herself as recklessly as she was pushing Asuka.

A bad thing for both of them.

 

“Ah, Lieutenant, glad you could make it,” Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki said as Maya entered his office, his warm tone making Maya all the more uncomfortable.

“With all due respect sir, would you please explain why I was summoned?” Maya said, her voice was merely a whisper. She was tired and angry at being recalled, and failed to hide it. Finally her work had allowed her to find some time to go home, and just when she was getting ready to leave, the Sub-Commander asked her for a meeting.

Fuyutsuki gazed at the young Lieutenant who stood before him, sizing her up. Maya felt as if she would fall asleep while talking to him. Her eyes where only half-open, and she had to blink constantly to keep herself awake. She was aware that to the Sub-Commander she likely resembled a prisoner that had been sleep deprived for weeks. She thought it would be nice if he decided she wasn't up to the task he had selected for her.

“I really must apologize,” Fuyutsuki said, sounding like he meant it. “I know you were ready to call it a day, but there is some work that needs to be done. Doctor Akagi is much too preoccupied at the moment. You understand?”

Maya sighed, knowing that her hopes for going home had just gone down the drain. Another night on a hard, cold bunk for poor Maya. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Fuyutsuki slipped his hand in his pocket and came up with a small disk. “This is part of the coding for Unit-00’s new programming interface that will go along with the operating system we will be implementing. It needs to be compiled. That will be your task since you are in charge of Lazarus. The Doctor has already written the required algorithms to accomplish this but it needs to be pushed through the MAGI.”

Maya's back stiffened. She was suddenly more awake. “Sir, speaking about the new OS, I believe that we should activate Unit-00 using the old command program before switching to the new. We don’t even know if Rei can use Unit-00 anymore,” she said. “And, honestly, I’m a little concerned about the program. I mean, I trust Dr. Akagi, but … well, I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m not sure—”

“Lieutenant Ibuki, that code was designed for use with the formatting capabilities of the Eva’s computer systems. You shouldn’t be concerned with anything other than making the Eva work, by any means.”

“The pilot’s well-being concerns me as well, sir. I am responsible for Rei’s life, and fear that using the new code will hamper her ability to synch with the Eva safely.” She didn't mean to lecture him but realized that's how it came out. Her voice became softer as she added, “I just don't think it's safe, sir.”

She hoped that the Sub-Commander would agree with her. He nodded, taking in her uneasiness. Maya had always thought he looked like the least likely person to help run an organization such a NERV. His lined faced and slick gray hair gave him a quality of wise age, but he had always seemed more like a kind uncle than a commanding officer to Maya.

And he definitely lacked the air of intimidation Commander Ikari had about him, making him easier to approach. Maya also knew he was always likely to listen.

“We are aware of the pilot’s limitations,” the Sub-Commander said with an expression of understanding. He was aware of her concern. “If we believed that Rei would be unable to use the Eva, we wouldn’t have deemed this appropriate. We are not going about this without giving proper thought to every step we take.”

“Yes, sir.” Maya stretched out her hand and took the disk.

“Good, then. I should expect some progress for tomorrow. Have a good evening.” And with that Fuyutsuki dismissed her.

Maya saluted and left.

The hallways in Central Dogma were empty. The short-haired Lieutenant made her way to the small box-like quarters which had for the last weeks, become home. Maya slid the key into the lock and forced herself to turn it. She did not want to be here. The place was small and bare; there was a bunk in the far corner, and desk, a computer, and a door, which led to a bathroom.

Maya grabbed her coffee flask and noticing that it was empty decided to get it filled. She walked down the hall and took a flight of escalators to the nearest vending machine located just outside the main bridge. She smiled weakly when she saw Junichi Nakayima talking animatedly with Shigeru Aoba and Haruna Ieil, the member of the bridge crew who had taken up Maya's duties and Aoba’s girlfriend of the month.

“Hullo, guys.” Maya said with all the cheerfulness she could muster, but not nearly enough. She placed her flask bellow the machine's nozzle intended for cups and swiped her card. It beeped and started pouring.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Haruna said. A smile came to her sharp features.

Technically, Maya was her superior officer, but she had never cared much for rank. She waved away the salute. “Don’t do that. I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you going home, Lieutenant Ibuki?” Nakayima said. He was holding onto a cup of the machine's barely-excusable coffee and a nutritional—or so they were labeled—granola substitute bar that was already more than half eaten. Apparently, she wasn't the only who hadn't gotten a decent meal and that made her feel a little better.

“No. Can’t. I have work to do.” Maya said, retrieving her flask and taking a swig, recoiling from the bitter taste but thankful for the much needed intake of precious caffeine.

“Come on, Maya. How much longer can you keep going like this?” Aoba sounded concerned. “I mean, you’ll work yourself to death.”

“THEY will work me to death,” Maya said, regretfully shaking her head. “It's not like I'm a fan of ritual suicide. And the Sub-Commander just gave me some more things to do.”

Aoba shook his head too, sympathetically. “Maya, Maya, you’ve got to tell them that you are not a robot.”

“It comes with the territory. If you want to be boss, you gotta put in the long hours.”

“Spoken like a true workaholic.” Nakayima said.

Maya just nodded absently, then she turned to the agent. She hated that uniform, it made all those who wore it seem ... nasty somehow. It was the color: NERV's was a nice, neutral tan and white, cut along military lines but without the rigidity; the MOI's was black, the sort of thing one would see on storm troopers from an age past; ominous.

Nakayima was a nice enough guy, at times he could even be charming and if she weren't—well, if she wasn't herself she might have liked him. Anyway, the uniform didn't suit him at all.

“Don’t you have to be somewhere?” Maya asked.

“Me?” Nakayima said, exaggeratedly mocked indignation. “You mean doing something other than vending machine talk? Pushing papers? Oppressing the townspeople?”

“Precisely.” Maya said and turned to Aoba and Haruna. Damn, I can see why he likes her, she thought “You guys going out?”

The operator nodded and slid his arm around his girlfriend’s waist. “Yep. I am gonna show her that Tokyo-3 is not only Angels and mayhem, well, maybe a little mayhem. You can tag along if…”

Maya cut him off with a hard glance.

Aoba rubbed the back of his neck apologetically with his free hand. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“You better go, before you feel the necessity of staying to keep me company.” Maya said, noticing how Haruna was tugging at Aoba’s sleeve.

Aoba nodded, though Maya noticed he did so rather hesitantly. “Good night, Maya,” he said.

“Good night, Lieutenant,” Haruna said.

Maya waved them goodnight as they walked away, hoping she could go with them if only for the change of scenery that being outside and getting some fresh air would bring. When they were gone she was left alone with Nakayima, chewing his fake granola bar.

“It seems that everyone’s got a life but me.” She said without bothering to look at him.

“I bet it is not because you don’t want to.” Nakayima said.

“No, because I can’t. And now, if you excuse me, I wish I had time to stay and chat, but I have work to do.”

Nakayima made a face, his narrow features opening in an imitation of curiosity. “Why are you NERV people always looking for excuses to avoid me? I don’t have the plague or anything. I swear, I'm up on all my shots.”

Maya found that amusing, which she thought was just the effect it was meant to have. Charming alright, she thought.

“We don’t need excuses to avoid you,” she said, keeping her voice light, and began walking away. “You are MOI. All we need is common sense.”

 

Saving the world by piloting a gigantic bio-mechanical weapon of mass destruction had never meant that Shinji Ikari was excused from doing household chores. That still hadn’t changed.

And since neither Misato nor Asuka were ever inclined to do it themselves, the laundry always fell into that category. He didn’t really mind, similarly to how he didn’t mind cooking for them; it gave him something to do that didn’t require interaction with people. It was one of the few things he could do on his own that had nothing to do with Eva.

Such things had given meaning to everyday life outside Unit-01’s entry plug.

Shinji scooped up the scattered bits of clothing from the apartment’s three occupants that lay thrown about carelessly into the laundry basket, then picked it up from the bathroom floor and carried it over to the small washroom alcove.

Placing the basket on top of the washing machine, he emptied it out and then began sorting the contents, carefully separating the whites from the colors and stacking them in neat little piles. Shinji had done this so many times it was nearly automatic.

Most of his day had been spent with Rei, watching over her as she slept, the sheets twisted around her, her slender, beautifully pale form curled into a fetal position. He felt no shame in seeing her like that, exposed in a way that would make Asuka rage if she were in the other girl’s place. Rei was so passive it was as if her near nudity was the most natural thing in the world, both for her and for Shinji.

It was early afternoon by the time she awoke. Satisfied that she was now feeling better, Shinji decided not to impose on her any longer, and to give her the privacy she didn’t care to ask for. Rei would never ask him to leave, he realized, even if she didn’t understand why he had stayed with her in the first place. She had said nothing as he bade her goodbye and walked to the door.

He knew not to take offense at her indifference. What would have been weird for other teenagers was just Rei being herself. He seemed to accept that of her with remarkable, not to mention uncharacteristic, ease. Being with her was just--

Shinji shook his head, his mind drifting back to the present, to his chores, and to the fact that he needed to finish with the laundry and get started on dinner.

Asuka, he knew, would snicker derisively and jeer that he was pathetically housebroken. It seemed to bother her that being stuck with the lowliest tasks didn’t upset him the way she seemed to think it should. Of course, the redhead had much higher standards, and just because it was beneath her didn’t mean it was beneath him.

The fact was that without Shinji doing the very things she made fun of him for, none of them would have anything clean to wear. Or have dishes to eat on, or have anything to eat that wasn't flash frozen and loaded with chemicals and preservatives. He kept this household running—he suspected even Asuka recognized that. He wouldn't like her nicknaming him “Mama Shinji” for his efforts, but he did feel some pride in what he did.

Not that Shinji wouldn't have welcomed some help. Originally, all three roommates were supposed to divvy up the chores, rotating every week on who did what, when. Misato was too busy working and was hardly ever home, so she was excused. Asuka, in her normal fashion, had thrown a temper tantrum and gotten off the rotation. It was amazing how much she resembled a spoiled little girl when the need suited her. 

As Shinji reached the bottom of the unsorted pile he held up a pair of Asuka's flimsy, well-worn panties. He sighed. 

The haughty redhead had always been protective of her underwear, but despite constantly teasing him about it she didn't seem to have any problem throwing her panties in the laundry for him to wash. It was like she actually wanted him to try something just so she would be justified in accusing him.

That would definitely be like Asuka, Shinji thought. She was so ambiguous when it came to her blooming sexuality, flaunting it purposefully and then yelling at anyone that noticed, who mostly happened to be him. Her constant put-downs were a source of shame, making him feel as though he shouldn’t even be looking at her. But he couldn’t help it.

Absently, Shinji brushed his fingers on the panties, touching the spot where the thin fabric of the gusset would press up against Asuka's privates when worn. His body responded by stiffening pleasantly at the sensation.

Unlike whatever Asuka might think, this was not a habit he often engaged in. He did try to respect her privacy; he just failed some times. And then he...

Then he heard the apartment door slid open with a hiss.

Immediately a rush of hot blood rose to his cheeks, and he shoved the panties deep in the nearest laundry pile in a flash of panic, embarrassingly aware that Asuka would never stop calling him a pervert if she actually caught him red-handed.

“We are home,” Misato called out from the entry hall.

His cheeks now flushed furiously, Shinji thought it would seem suspicious if he didn’t come out to greet them. He picked up the basket again and held it in front of him trying to hide his raging erection, and stepped from the tiny washroom into the kitchen just as his two roommates did the same.

Misato hung back, staying close to the kitchen doorway. Asuka rushed around the far side of the heavy wooden table that took up most of the space and headed for the living room. Having removed her shoes at the entrance, her bare feet padded quietly on the smooth, uncarpeted floor. It took another heartbeat for her angry expression and even angrier body language to register in Shinji's head. By then it was too late. 

“How did it go?” Shinji asked without thinking. 

Asuka stopped on her tracks and turned to him. The blue orbs of her eyes seemed to be on fire. “How do you think?” she yelled, a snarl crawling on her face. “I can’t even make it go! I can’t do anything!”

“I-I don’t…” Shinji stammered, backing away slightly. “I'm sorry.” 

Asuka pitched forward, her shoulders raised, hands clenched into fists. “YOU are sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry I can't even make my Eva work? Sorry I'm such a failure?”

As she yelled, each word like a finger poking him in the chest, Shinji began shaking his head. 

“Then tell me!” Asuka demanded. “You have Unit-01. What the hell do YOU have to be sorry for?!” 

Shinji swallowed uncomfortably, his throat suddenly very dry; his mind seized up, as if it simply could not shift into a higher gear to keep up with her anger. And the fact that he didn't know how to answer her brought the stark reality of their relationship—if their short, anti-social exchanges could even be called that—into a sad focus. 

Whatever fanciful image he carried in his mind, and however he thought of her behind her back, Asuka wasn’t and would never be anything he wished her to be. His imagining of her was just a selfish desire, not true affection. So was his concern.

And Asuka knew it. He could see the disgust on her face. How dare he say such stupid things? How dare he pretend that he cared?

Shinji lowered his head. “I'm sure you did your best.”

“My best is nothing!”

“That's enough, Asuka,” Misato finally said, placing herself closer to Shinji's side of the table. Though her voice was serious there was no anger in it. “It’s not his fault. You shouldn't yell at him like it is.”

Asuka rounded on their guardian—a reprieve for which Shinji was hugely grateful. “He can defend himself!” she bellowed. “And I’ll yell at him if I want to!”

“He’s just trying to help,” Misato explained calmly, though she wasn't looking at the redhead.

If anything, that seemed to make Asuka even angrier. “I don’t want his help! I don’t want yours! I’m so sick of this!”

She turned sharply on her pink heels, her short skirt flaring up to flash a brief glimpse of her pert, panty-clad bottom for both her roommates to see, and stormed off loudly. Her bedroom door was heard slamming shut violently seconds later.

Shinji stared after her, feeling the blush returning to his cheeks, then sighed and dropped his head.

It was a sign of how little regard they had for each other, he thought sadly, that her outbursts, however frequent, didn't really surprise him anymore. She had always been hot-tempered, but ever since coming out of the hospital she had become just plain bitter. Given what happened to her, perhaps it was understandable. 

What the Angel had done to her mind—that she could come back at all was remarkable. She was remarkable.

Again Shinji felt the now-familiar twinge of guilt.

If anyone could relate it was him, having had his own close encounters on several occasions. But how could he, an awkward boy just over fourteen who couldn't even confront his own issues, help someone as stout-hearted as Asuka, who didn't know the meaning of compassion or sympathy and would just as soon throw them back in his face?

He was afraid of her, afraid of coming that little bit closer that would make all of her insults really hurt. But if he kept his distance maybe things would go back to the way they were before. He didn't feel like he had a choice.

Shinji shook his head dejectedly. And as he turned to Misato he was confronted by another, more immediate problem.

“Um...”

It was the first time in a long while the two of them were left alone. They stood there perfectly still, neither saying a word nor looking at the other.

Shinji struggled to get a hold of himself, to push Asuka back far enough in his mind so that he could bring out the things he wanted to say. For someone who had made it a character trait to apologize compulsively, it seemed such a difficult thing to do now—if only because he was very aware of how badly and purposefully he had cut her.

Her eyes were focused on the table, almost like she was afraid. He didn’t deserve to be looked after and cared for by someone like her, someone to whom he meant so much. Now more than at any other moment he hated what he had done.

But the words for everything he wanted to say wouldn’t come.

Misato sighed and turned.

“Don’t mind her,” she said softly. “Asuka’s had a rough day. You know how she gets. It's really not your fault.”

He nodded silently.

Misato followed the same path as the redhead around the table into the living room, disappearing momentarily from sight. She returned with her red jacket and a gray duffel bag. Shinji hadn’t even noticed that she was not wearing the jacket until now, and he found that strange because it had become as much a part of his mental image of her as Rei's uniform and Asuka's neural connectors.

Setting both the jacket and the bag down on the table, Misato went to use the bathroom. She noticed the partially done laundry stacked on top of the washing machine but said nothing before closing the door behind her. Shinji didn't get the sense she was trying to avoid him; he was the one who couldn't find a convenient opening.

It was hard. He knew he wanted to apologize, but didn't quite know how to take back all the awful things he'd already said.

When Misato returned to the kitchen after a moment, Shinji couldn't remain silent any longer. He stepped closer to her as she slipped her arms into the jacket's loose sleeves, holding onto the sides of the laundry basket so tightly it hurt as the plastic dug into his hands.

“You aren’t staying for dinner?” he said cautiously.

“Not tonight,” Misato said, picking up the duffel bag by its strap and slinging it over her right shoulder. The bag hung by her side, nuzzled against a flaring, attractive hipbone. “I came to drop Asuka off and get a few things. Hey--” she stopped and for a second seemed taken aback and straightened up. “You are talking to me now?”

Shinji blushed again, and this time it had nothing to do with Asuka's underwear. He was so ashamed of himself he could not keep his pale blue eyes focused on her; instead he dropped his gaze into the basket. “I—I talked to Rei.”

“Uh?” Misato move closer, her steps hesitant as if afraid she might scare him into being angry at her again just by being near him. 

“And she said,” Shinji continued, head still down, “that if I won’t do anything because I am afraid, then I shouldn’t be, because then I have nothing else worth losing.”

Misato didn’t say anything.

Shinji kept his eyes on the basket, wanting to avoid looking up and seeing the look on her face that would tell him he had better come up with something else if he wanted to be forgiven. She didn’t have to forgive him at all; he wouldn’t blame her if she never did. 

And then he couldn't take it anymore. His shoulders hitched up instinctively, the coiled energy of his regret and guilt suddenly springing loose. 

“I’m sorry, Misato!” he blurted out, squeezing his eyes shut. “I'm so stupid. I shouldn't have—”

“So Rei said that, uh?” Misato said finally, her voice calm and soft.

Shinji nodded, expecting her to berate him savagely like Asuka always did. But then, Misato laughed. A harmless, pleasant laugh, and it so surprised him that he looked up to find a faint smile on her pretty face.

“Yeah,” she said. “That does sound like something Rei would say. It’s spooky how she comes up with stuff like that. In a good way, really.”

“Misato …” Shinji was no longer certain she had heard his apology. “I said I'm so--”

She held up her hand and he fell quiet.

“Don’t. You don’t have to say you're sorry for what you feel. And you aren't stupid, either. You were right before. I can’t make you pilot Eva—I don’t want to make you. That's your choice. All I want is for you to know that your choices affect everyone around you.”

Shinji took in those words with a gentle nod and bowed his head. Misato wasn’t trying to sermonize him or rub in the fact that what he did was wrong—and yelling those hurtful things at her certainly was. Hers was just sincere advice. 

The apprehension that had surrounded all previous thoughts of talking to his guardian was replaced by an affectionate feeling of warmth. Even if he didn't think he deserved it, he got the feeling she understood and forgave him. 

“Well, I really should be going,” Misato said, an upbeat tone in her voice that hadn't been there before. “Listen, make sure Asuka gets something to eat, okay? Don’t tell her I said that. She won’t like it. She isn’t—her habits are not very healthy if you don’t nag her.” She gave him a thumbs-up. “So that’s your mission for tonight, got it?”

“Easier said than done,” Shinji replied gloomily. “Sounds like a suicide mission.”

Misato smiled cautiously. “It’s got to be easier than catching an Angel falling from orbit, right?” She waved him off, tucked her jacket underneath an arm, and left the apartment.

Shinji saw her out the door still holding the laundry basket tightly, its weight reminding him that despite everything there was still ordinary life to be had—that was if Asuka didn’t slit his throat for asking if she wanted beef or chicken for dinner.

Sighing heavily, he determined not to make Asuka's life any harder. She had been at NERV all day, and she hated the cafeteria food. Shinji would bet his S-DAT she was hungry.

But he couldn't bring himself to bother her with such a trivial thing as asking what she wanted to eat. She probably wouldn't appreciate it very much and might not even want whatever he made regardless, but he could do nothing else for her. Yes, he'd make her dinner, something he knew she'd like, and he'd leave it on the table for her.

Ready whenever she was.

 

After the heated exchange with her roommates, Asuka lay on her bed for a long time hugging her pillow and staring at the door. A part of her wanted so badly for it to open and reveal Shinji standing on the other side; the same part that didn't want to be alone anymore; the same part that she absolutely hated.

Just once she would like things to go her way—for the universe to stop singling her out and pick on someone else for a change. After the horrible day she had, was that really too much to ask?

The door remained shut, without even a knock to ask if she wanted any dinner, if she was alright. Nobody came for her. Nobody wanted her, not even Stupid Shinji.

Asuka tore her eyes away from the door, and it felt like her heart was tearing as well. She clenched her teeth and tried to steel herself against it. The failure with Unit-02 had left her drained and heartbroken; her defenses were weak. Too many thing pulling in too many directions at once. And just when she thought it couldn't get worse, Shinji had to ...

Couldn't he see how much pain she was in? Couldn't he see how bad things were for her right now? Unit-02 refused to synch with her—couldn't he see how much that hurt? Why did he have to ask her how it went? Why did he have to rub it in?

Because he just didn't care. Even after she had kissed him he had just stood there flabbergasted. She had waited for him, eyes almost watering from the emotions she had repressed for so long, mouth dry, heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest, clenched hands and bare feet cold. She had waited but he didn’t move, didn’t do anything.

When his gaze dropped to the floor between her feet she had started yelling at him, rushing to the bathroom and making a show of rinsing the taste out of her mouth.

It hurt so badly to not even be able to get stupid Shinji to pay attention to her. Or to show any sign that she might be something to him other than the awful redhead he was forced to share an apartment with.

She hated Shinji for ignoring her and hurting her. Like she hated her mother for dying. Like she hated Kaji for leaving without even saying goodbye. Like she hated Unit-02, and she hated the Angel for breaking into her mind and digging up all the painful things in her short, absolutely miserable life. She hated everything. And, most of all, she hated herself.

But Asuka knew nobody would have cared how she felt, and Shinji least of all. Why would he? He had Wonder Girl to look after.

That was the last straw. The feelings of dejection that had tormented her throughout Unit-02’s activation had become a part of her life for so long she had almost come to accept them as inevitable, but knowing that Shinji had chosen a mindless porcelain doll instead of comforting her wounded self was more than Asuka could stand.

She tugged at her pillow, pulling it slightly from underneath her head so she could more fully wrap her arms around it, and screwed her blue eyes shut. 

And feeling utterly pathetic, she fought the overwhelming urge to cry.

 

***  
***

Misato Katsuragi wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to keep warm. The room was dark and very cold--freezing, sub-zero cold produced by the liquid nitrogen used to cool down the MAGI’s mainframe. She sat on the floor, leaning against a wall, knees drawn up to her chest, her breath condensed in front of her nose, giving her something to amuse herself with while Hyuga finished wiring the MAGI to his laptop.

She hadn’t really wanted to get him into this, but she was in need of his expertise with computers and decryption. She had managed to pull some information, thanks to the codes left by Kaji, but she had hit a brick wall lately. Hyuga had theorized that it was probably due to the encryption keys having been changed recently.

Unfortunately, that meant they would have to hack MAGI’s firewall instead of simply by-passing it.

“I apologize for getting you into this,” Misato said.

Hyuga turned and pulled at the connection cables he presently held. “No problem. At least you were nice enough to ask.”

Misato smiled innocently. “I guess I could have pulled a gun on you if you refused.”

Hyuga plugged the cables to some sort of terminal, and then plugged the terminal to his computer. He set the laptop on the floor and sat besides the Major.

“I would have done it myself, but I’m not that good of a hacker. This could get you into trouble,” Misato said, leaning over Hyuga’s shoulder as he began typing commands on his keyboard. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

“I would never say no to a friend,” Hyuga said.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hyuga replied, without taking his eyes off the computer screen. “All right. I got through the firewall. We should be able to do our business and get out before MAGI can pinpoint the security breach. Do you have a disk or do you want me to download it to my computer hard drive?”

“No. It wouldn't be good for you to get caught with this stuff.” Misato reached into her pocket and produced a disk, which she handed to Hyuga. The operator took it, inserted it into his laptop and began copying the files Misato had requested.

“My question to you, if I may, is why are YOU doing it?” he asked, turning away from the computer to look at Misato, who had leaned back after giving him the disk. “If the Commander finds out, the consequences will be…”

Misato cut him short. “I know, but I have to find the truth,” she said.

“But is it worth it?” Hyuga asked, with genuine concern.

“The truth will set you free, Hyuga,” Misato said in a soft voice. Once again she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, closing her eyes, since she no longer felt like looking at the darkened world around her. “The truth will set you free.”

He said nothing as he turned back to the the glow of the laptop's bright LCD screen. Misato let him go. As talkative as she was there was no point in harassing him when he was trying to work, and she felt that anything she might say would sound like trying to justify what she was doing. What she was getting him to do for her.

For the next few minutes there was only the quiet hum of machinery and the tapping on keys on a keyboard. And then she heard ...

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck for reasons completely unrelated to the cold. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

Hyuga's head came up and he looked around. “No. What?”

“Keystrokes,” Misato said, rolling quietly onto her knees.

“Major ...” Hyuga shifted his sitting posture sideways, looking at her like she was going crazy. “I'm typing.”

Misato shook her head. “Not you. Much fainter.”

She got to her feet, and reached into her jacket for her gun.

“Major!” Hyuga said as loudly as someone who was trying to whisper could. Misato moved around him into the dark. “Major, if you think we've been caught we need to get out of here.”

“If we'd been caught we'd know it already,” Misato said. “Stay put and don't make any noise.”

In the darkness and the cold, Misato could feel her heart pounding in her chest with incredible clarity. Blind people often said that loosing sight merely enhanced other senses to near superhuman levels. She wondered if that's what it was. The little pinpricks of red diodes from the computers rose like pedestals of stars around her. A human, man-made galaxy among the black void.

Her gun was freezing in her hands, her breath turning into a mist in front of her. She made to the opposite end of the room, looking around. Nothing, just more computers. And something on the floor.

A ladder.

Misato had been aware that the computer towers extended both above and bellow the floor, but she had never considered that this room might have more than one floor. She was beginning to feel increasingly foolish—even if what she heard were keystrokes, this floor should be empty and nobody could have gone down the ladder without her and Hyuga noticing. Curiosity, however, got the better of her.

The metal rungs on the ladder were cold. She winced at the touch while still holding her gun in her right hand. She had no problem descending with just her feet and one hand.

The room bellow was much what she expected, towers of equipment, red diodes, and humming. But she could tell by the way the light seemed to extend into infinity that this level was actually very much larger than the one above. Misato stood at the foot of the ladder, looking around. Concentrating on her hearing, she tried to penetrate the darkness, hoping to pick up the faint noise again.

God, she felt stupid.

This place was a maze—level built on level. Like everything Misato thought she knew about NERV, she had only scratched the surface. In the cold and the dark she found that a terrifying thought.

 

To be continued …


	3. Genocide 0:03 / Hatred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I really wanted to do edits on these next chapters before here on AO3, but it's taking too long. Sorry.

Notes: Well, this took a lot longer than originally anticipated. It doesn't help that part of it have been written for over a year--the best parts too. Thanks go to Big D and Jimmy (and maybe Mike but I don't know yet :p ). Anyway, I think this takes care of most of the rewrite because the following chapters are not as bad as the first three. There are still things I'm not happy about but I'm always doing that. Review if you like. Who knows, maybe I'll actually finish the story.

 

Evangelion Genocide: Extended

“Hell is ... other people.” --Jean Paul Sartre.

Genocide 0:03 / Hatred

 

Misato Katsuragi arrived home feeling dead tired, which seemed to be the rule lately.

She couldn't believe there had been a time when she had actually liked her job--when her sense of duty had pushed her through countless all-nighters without thinking of it as a chore. Right now, though, the warm glow of idealism long snuffed out, she wanted nothing more than to slump down on her bed and sleep. It was a luxury she rarely had, and one of the very few things she still managed to enjoy.

As soon as she entered the apartment she heard the whispering of the TV. Voices too soft and muted to make out properly, almost like ghostly whispers in the back of her head. She had told the children not to leave the TV on when they weren't watching—it was a waste of energy and did not help with the power bill—but things had been so strained lately that she didn't blame them if they disobeyed such an unimportant rule.

Closing the door behind her, Misato took off her shoes on the landing, absently rubbing her tired feet, and flicked on the kitchen light to see where she was headed, She walked into the living room and stopped on her tracks.

To her surprise, she found Asuka lying on her belly in front of the TV set, resting her chin on her hands, completely oblivious to Misato's entrance. In the flickering lights of the gloving tube Misato could see a deeply thoughtful expression on her young face.

Misato didn't want to startle the girl. She thought about simply slipping quietly to her bedroom, but there was something ...

Ever since Asuka came out of the hospital Misato had been too busy to talk to her, to see how she was doing; how she was coping. They rarely saw each other, unintentionally because of her odd schedule or maybe because they were subconsciously trying to avoid one another. It didn't matter why, not really.

Either way, she felt guilt that she couldn’t dedicate as much time to the girl as she deserved, especially with all that was going on in her life. Like Shinji, at the tender age of fourteen, Asuka had already endured more pain and hurt than most people did in a whole lifetime. Not a day went by that Misato didn't feel sorry for them.

And after being the one who had talked Asuka into coming home, she felt a particular sense of responsibility to her. The young German girl was her ward, yes, and that made it obligatory that she'd be concerned for her well-being. But what she felt was more than a obligation. More like the sort of duty she had once felt for her job. She owed Asuka her concern as someone close to her--the only thing she now had that approached what others might call family.

Misato cleared her throat, hoping the noise would alert Asuka to her presence, and finally said, "It's late, Asuka. What are you doing up?"

“What does it look like I'm doing?” Asuka replied in a harsh whisper. She didn't move a muscle; her eyes were still on the screen. “I’m watching a show.”

“Go to bed," Misato said, hoping to sound motherly rather than overbearing. "You have a very important test tomorrow. And this time you are also going to school. I know you don't care about it, but you are not playing hookie again. You aren’t sick.”

Asuka said nothing—she just stared blankly at the TV.

Misato looked at her, trying to see how she'd react then sighed, not sure if the redhead had heard her. "Asuka?"

"What?" Asuka yelled back, her bare shoulders tensed visibly. It was as if just talking with Misato caused her anger to rise beyond control.

"I..." Misato began, but had problems finding the right words. She couldn’t treat Asuka like a child, even if she thought she very much was a child. Unlike Shinji, Asuka was so haughty it prohibited any sympathy she might be willing offer. But she had to say something. She had to let her know that she didn’t have to carry the burden of being an Eva pilot and a teenager all alone.

"If you want me too,” Misato finally managed, “I can talk with Ritsuko and have her stop the tests. Just for a little while. Until you feel up to it again."

There a long moment of silence.

"Why?" Asuka asked simply, her face remaining stony, something hollow sounding in her usual shrill voice. Like she didn’t even understand what Misato was offering.

Misato thought about what Ritsuko had said--about Asuka being a like a cat. She hadn’t really wanted to believe someone like Ritsuko would know anything about a person’s feelings, especially complex ones like a young girl’s, but she had to admit she was right. Asuka might not be afraid, but she had been left alone and abandoned inside her little box for so long that she even forgot what compassion sounded like. Partly, it was Misato's own fault.

"I...don't think the tests are good for you," Misato replied quietly. “I think you could use a break.”

"Since when have you been concerned with what is good for me?" Asuka asked, sarcastically. She turned her head slightly so that she could look at Misato out of the corner of her eye, as if measuring her response. Her blue eyes glinted in the glow of the television--icy jewels hard enough to cut diamonds.

"I've always been concerned." Misato said, trying not to let her guilt come across in her words.

Asuka looked her over, eyes moving up and down intently, her feet crossed at the ankles swinging back and forth ever so gently in the air. Then a look of distaste came over her young features, as if she were holding something she didn't like in her mouth. "Only because it's part of your job." She narrowed her eyes. "And only when it's convenient to you."

It hurt to realize she was right. It hurt all the more because Misato did care about Asuka—she cared very much, in fact. Even if the short moments she shared with her ward, when she saw her really early in the morning as she was getting ready for school or later at night or at NERV simply never allowed her to show it.

Despite not showing it as she should, she cared. It was just so hard for someone like Asuka to understand that ... she didn’t make it easy. How were you supposed to show caring for a person when they did nothing but lash out at you?

"That's not true, Asuka," Misato said honestly. “Ever since you came here—”

"I suppose it's not true, even though you never came to see me in the hospital," Asuka said harshly, looking away from Misato and fixed her gaze back on the television. “I suppose it’s not true even though you never talk to me. I'm just this girl you live with and never see. Everything you need to know about me is in my file, right?”

Something heavy hit Misato in the chest. "It's not...like that. I was just busy. Before. So much happened in so little time, I just never got around to it."

"I suppose I just wasn't very convenient."

"Asuka..." The Major shook her head. “You can’t really believe that.”

"That's fine," Asuka said. "I don't want you to be concerned for me. Just don't say that it isn't true. Don’t lie to me. I'm grown up now. I can deal with the truth."

"I was concerned, but..." Misato began, but the right words would not come. How could she justify having abandoned her to Asuka when she couldn’t even justify it to herself? "Asuka, you are grown up. But you have to understand that some times we can't do the things we wish we could."

"You don't even believe that. If you are concerned—and I'm not saying I think you are—then it's only because it makes you feel better about yourself," Asuka added. "It makes you feel like a less horrible person. Like the idiot. It has nothing to do with me."

Misato fell silent and just stared at her, stunned at having her words thrown back in her face and knowing all the while that nothing she was being told was wholly untrue.

Asuka appeared indifferent to the argument, for her voice didn't betray a single hint of emotion, not even the anger Misato thought she should rightfully feel.

Never being the reserved type, the redhead seemed to have no more things to say, convinced that she was right and not amount of argument would change her mind. While she certainly had a talent for speaking her mind, that usually meant she was also brutally honest and unabashed when dealing with others. She was good at that. And it pushed people away. People who would otherwise try to help her, like Misato.

But maybe, Misato thought, her concern for Asuka was merely out of convenience. That could be the case with someone like her, because she obviously didn't care if Misato was concerned or not. To Asuka it was just selfishness. It was strange to think that she could have missed the point the her ward had just made: that it made her feel like a less horrible person.

Misato could not deny that it did. Asuka had every right to accuse her of being selfish, because that was exactly what she was doing—doing things out of self-interest, like being concerned for someone only when that someone affected her.

Should that not be true, she would have gone to see Asuka in the hospital when she was at her lowest and needed comforting more. Should that not be true, she would gone to her now, where she lay in front of the television, and put her arms around her and hugged her because she wanted her to know she was there for her.

"It has everything to do with you because ..." Misato tried, and again could not finish that sentence. She dropped her head. "Then I guess I can't make you change your mind. I know I can't reach you. But I hope you do realize that, despite everything, there are still people around you. Now. And none of them want to see you suffer."

“Those people are just being selfish. They can go to hell.”

Misato wondered what else she had expected of the German girl. But the words still hurt, made even more so by the serious tone that indicated Asuka was being sincere. That she really did want to be left absolutely, utterly alone. “I'm sorry that's how you see it. I really am, Asuka.”

Asuka said nothing, her head dropping slightly, her eyes fixed on the television. From that point on, Misato knew she meant to ignore her. She sighed in resignation.

“Good night, Asuka,” she murmured, but tried to keep from sounding defeated. “Go to bed—that's an order from your superior officer."

After watching Asuka snatch up the remote to turn off the television and head towards her room, fairly certain the girl just despised her, Misato turned around and locked herself in her room. She collapsed on her bed exhausted, too tired to bother removing her clothes, and waited for the oblivion of sleep to envelop her.

 

She remembered the dirty, checkered tiled floor and filthy bed but not much else.

The air was heavy, loaded with dust and the smell of decay as if nobody had been here in a long time. There was almost no light, only enough to see the faint outlines of worn-out, rusted medical equipment that did not seem to have been used in a long, long time.

Dead things, dead reminders of a life lost.

She didn’t know how she’d come to end up here. All she remembered was pain, and voices and an awful feeling of fingers on her bare skin.

Rei Ayanami stood in the middle of the room, her ghostly white flesh almost glowing in the darkness. She was naked, but she didn’t feel cold. She didn’t feel anything, just dead.

There was something missing. She didn’t know what it was, but something wasn’t where it was supposed to be in her chest.

Like she had no heart.

Where was she? Why was this place so familiar?

She had never been here before, and yet she felt like she had always been here, always living in the dark, always naked.

A dream?

Memory?

As she approached the bed, the soft shuffling of her feet filled the room. The sheets were dingy; there were dried blood stains on the yellowing material. Her blood? Softly, she pressed her hand on the sheets. They were warm, pleasant to the touch. Was this her bed? Her past?

No, not hers--Rei Ayanami’s.

“Rei, what are you doing?”

Rei turned to the sound of the familiar voice and found Doctor Ritsuko Akagi standing where she had been before, holding a flashlight. She couldn’t see the woman’s face, only a shock of her blonde hair and white lab coat. The harsh light hurt her eyes and so she looked away.

“How did you get here?” the Doctor repeated.

“I do not know,” Rei said honestly. “It felt like I was walking in my sleep.”

“I said you could take a break. That wasn’t permission to wander off,” the blond doctor said sternly. “This is a big place, it would incredibly easy to get lost forever if you don’t know your way out, or nobody knows where you are.”

Rei nodded her head slightly. “I am sorry to have worried you, Doctor Akagi.”

Doctor Akagi turned around.

“I wasn’t worried at all.” She made a motion with her hand, a signal to Rei that she was supposed to follow. “Come on.”

Rei followed her obediently, falling in step behind her as she led the way out of the darkened room and into a pitch-black hallway illuminated only by the flashlight and a bright doorway at the very end. The damp air clung to her as sweat, the gloom entered her pores like some kind of virus. Shapes appeared along the walls: doors, broken equipment, pipes, shards of glass, cardboard boxes, medical supplies.

The only sound was the clicking of Ritsuko's heels, the rustling of her coat, and Rei's quiet padding on the tiles.

“Familiar, isn’t it?” Doctor Akagi said, keeping her gaze straight ahead. Rei could only see a flash of yellow hair along the silhouette of her head.

“What is this place, Doctor Akagi?” Rei asked, unable to hold her curiosity. “I have never been here before, and yet there is something ... I do not know what to call it.”

“To you, this place means nothing,” Doctor Akagi answered coolly. “This is where she grew up. This was her world for a long time.”

Rei felt a sudden pang of sadness. “In the dark?” she said.

“We used to have lighting when it was still in use. Of course we wouldn't have raised her in the dark. That would have made for a very badly adjusted individual,” she added. “But what do you care, you didn’t grow up here. You came from a glass tube.”

Rei didn't know what to feel—how to feel. Only that she felt something odd and empty once again in that familiar spot inside her chest.

“She grew up?”

Ritsuko Akagi stopped, but did not turn. Rei stopped too, and stood there, red eyes carefully examining the woman in front of her. The doctor didn't seem quite able to put her thoughts into words. Rei didn't mean to trouble her. Her question had not been intended to do that, but it seemed to have regardless.

“Rei,” finally Doctor Akagi said, “for someone who is very intelligent you sure ask a lot of dumb questions.”

A sudden cold draft of air touched her skin, making her shiver. “Do you hate me, Doctor Akagi?”

The doctor sighed, turning partially back towards Rei. It was impossible to see the expression on her face and Rei knew it was the same with her own face, which was good because she didn't know what expression to make.

“Hate is a strong word, Rei. It is meant to hurt. People don’t seem to understand now. You shouldn’t use it unless you mean it—and even if you do there are always other ways to say it without being so blunt.” She paused. “That said, I don’t hate who you are, I hate what you are. What you represent.”

So this was what being hated felt like, Rei thought. It was such a familiar thing. Like she had lived with it for a long time.

Without knowing why she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“You know, I destroyed the Dummy System for the same reason,” Doctor Akagi said bitterly. Her voice had a strange hardness to it. “Soulless things shouldn’t hold the same value as human beings. You were no different than those things until you were born. Then everything changed and you became who you are.”

“I am soulless?” In the dark, even Rei's soft whisper seemed carry on forever.

“No, weren’t you paying attention?” Doctor Akagi admonished her. “I said everything changed for you. You have a soul. But Angels have souls—would you call them human?”

Rei did not offer an answer, though she knew what it was supposed to be.

“Don’t flatter yourself by pretending to be more than you were created as, Rei. Understanding is not your purpose. You may feel better now, but in the end it will only lead you to misery.” Doctor Akagi turned back, and resumed walking down the hallway behind the beam of light from her flashlight, her heels once again clicking ominously as she went. “Now, enough with the questions. To be honest, the answers have absolutely no relevance for you. We still have experiments to run.”

Rei followed her quietly, every footstep feeling as heavy as her heart. This was her lot, she knew, the only reason for her existence. She had to fulfill her purpose or she would be discarded, and whether she liked it or not was irrelevant. Still, as she walked naked on the cold floor, she found that she did not want to go back.

She did not want to be hated anymore.

 

Shinji hesitated a moment before entering the the bustling classroom. Asuka bumped into him and gave an annoyed huff. “Out of the way, idiot!”

She pushed past, not waiting for him to move, and went to meet Hikari, who was standing near the front of the class as usual. Like she usually did, the redhead attracted quite a few of the other girls for whom simply to be seen with her would be a social boost, and the lustful stares and hushed whispers of several boys.

Shinji sighed and trundled to his desk.

Kensuke, occupying the desk next to his, looked up from what he had been typing at his computer station as he approached, grumbling dejectedly about all the attention Eva pilots got wherever they went. Shinji could agree that seemed to be the case some times, but only with Asuka as he and Rei never got any attention—and even if he did, he would try to avoid it.

His friend had never really understood what it was like, not even when one of them had gotten mauled by the Eva—by, Shinji reminded himself, him. He would probably not be able to look Toji in the eyes if they ever met again.

As Shinji set his book bag down on his own desk he looked around the room and quickly spotted Rei’s blue mane. She was sitting by the window, her red eyes lost in the landscape beyond and far away from the noise and the crowd, an elbow propped up on the desk, her chin resting on a white hand.

She was always like this in class; never speaking unless spoken to; never asking a question of clarification on homework or tests or anything.

Looking at Rei, Shinji remembered what Misato had told him the day before, the same thing that had been bothering him ever since and almost kept him from getting any sleep but that he had managed to put in the back of his mind thanks to the morning routine and having to deal with Asuka's usual hostility.

He could not resist the urge to approach her—he had to say something to reassure her, despite being sure Rei didn’t need it and that he would only be making himself feel better. In this sense, their relationship was decidedly one sided.

Shinji had known all along that Rei activating Unit-00 was compounded with him activating Unit-01. Asuka's Unit-02 was already active, though not fully-functional. That left the other two Evas. Misato had told him that he’d be there when it happened, probably because she knew he was concerned, but he hadn’t considered they would do the activations back-to-back.

But that was the decision. Resource conservation, Misato had called it.

Rei didn’t take her gaze from the window as he came to stand besides her desk and looked down on her, clenching his hands nervously the way he always did when something made him feel uncomfortable. He knew despite her indifference that her thoughts were not entirely elsewhere even if she did appear that way.

“Rei?”

“What is it?” she said softly, still not moving a muscle.

Any other person would have seemed rude. But Rei's attitude was something he had come to expect, and accept in a way. Regardless of anything he might say, and whether she disagreed with him or not, she would not make him feel as though he was completely wrong--she would not judge him in the same way he didn't judge her. It was that passivity which made her so approachable.

Which made him glad he had her; Asuka wouldn't listen, and if she did would yell; Misato would listen then try to talk him out of or into something; Rei just listened, nothing more.

“Um,” Shinji struggled for a second to find the right thing to say, then it came to him. He should just be honest because Rei would want him to and because she would be honest with him. “Misato said today’s the day. I mean, Unit-00 is ready. That means I’ll be going back into Unit-01 as well.”

For a second there was no reaction, and Shinji started wondering if he had actually said of that out loud. In some form or another, those thoughts had been running around his head so persistently that he couldn’t be sure. Being worried about Rei seemed to have become like being worried about the weather: it happened a lot and without him realizing he was doing it.

“Is that so?” Rei sounded completely uninterested when she finally responded, her voice just a whisper. “Yes, I believe Doctor Akagi mentioned something about the current activation test being scheduled for today.”

Shinji nodded. “Yeah, Asuka too. The three of us will be in our Evas today. It’s gonna be busy, that’s for sure.”

“I suppose it will be,” Rei said plainly. “I do not think the start-up sequences for all three would be scheduled on the same day. The available personnel might not be able to cope.”

It was just like her to worry about personnel at a time like this. Detachment did not even begin to describe it.

Shinji wasn’t expecting her to be concerned for herself—that would be rather unlike her, and would probably be more cause for concern than the test itself. After all, he was the worrywart. But he had, however, expected some reaction, something to show she understood the seriousness of the situation, if only to ease his own fears about the whole thing.

Rei could be a little too brave for the sake of everyone around her.

“Are you … are you scared?” Shinji asked, hoping his own apprehension didn’t show in his voice. He only partially succeeded, but if Rei noticed anything she didn’t let on.

“No,” Rei said flatly. “Why should I be?”

“Well, it’s the first time,” Shinji said. He was embarrassingly aware that it sounded childish considering all they’d been through. “It’d be natural to be afraid.”

“Are you afraid?” she asked absently.

Shinji gulped stiffly. “You mean about you?” he said. “Yeah, of course I'm worried. You've never done this before and the last time ...” He would rather not think about it. “But don’t worry, I’ll be there if anything happens.”

“Like what?”

Like you dying, he wanted desperately to say, the memory of her sacrifice still too fresh in his mind. He caught himself. Rei might not be afraid—though he was fearful enough for the both of them—but she didn't need him saying like that. “Like well, you know, something.”

“There is nothing to fear from 'something'.” The word sounded weird when she said it. “You should be more specific.”

Shinji let his shoulder sag along with his eyes. “I ... can't. Maybe I'm just in denial. I just don't want anything to happen to you.”

“I know,” Rei said flatly. “You wish to protect me.”

Shinji nodded.

“And who will protect her?” Rei turned her head ever so slightly.

Shinji followed her gaze—she was looking at Asuka. The redhead turned up her nose haughtily and twisted away when she realized they were both watching her, continuing to chat with the entourage of girls gathered around her. She sat on her desk like a queen on her throne, her feet up on the seat of her chair, one hand grabbing the edge of the desk, the other playing with a lock of her hair. Glossy red, her neural connectors stood out vividly.

There was no doubt that she had once again become an idol to their classmates, but Shinji knew better. Unlike them, he had seen her hit bottom.

“Asuka doesn't want anybody to protect her,” Shinji said sullenly, turning his head back to Rei. “It’s you I’m really worried about.”

He had no choice—how could he worry about Asuka when she wouldn't even allow him to do that for her? Every time he had expressed his concern she had thrown it back at him with vile and hurtful words. She didn't have to really believe he was being sincere, which for some reason she never thought he was, or feel that he was pitying her. But at least she could accept that he was trying to do something nice for her to make her feel better.

For all her hostility, Asuka did not deserve to be hurt any more than Rei did. Shinji wished he could be there for her, though he knew it was impossible because he was so hopelessly afraid of her. Rei was much easier to deal with; she didn't fight him every step of the way.

That, Shinji had long come to realize, said as much about himself as it did about Asuka. He had already accepted the fact that he was a coward when it came to the redhead.

“I do not worry,” Rei said quietly. “Even the worst that could happen would not be so bad. Perhaps it would be for others, but not for myself.”

Shinji couldn't argue with her on that, he just wished she cared as much for her own life as he did—maybe then she wouldn't be so eager to put it on the line for his father. It was an odd feeling to know what the person you worried so much about didn't care that you did. Rei Ayanami was always like that. She would do anything if his father ordered it.

And that bothered Shinji immensely.

Up near the front, Asuka was laughing—that high pitched laugh calculated to attract attention. Hikari too was smiling, happy to enjoy whatever joke she was sharing with her friend. Other girls look at her in admiration, even gratitude for being allowed in Asuka's circle. 

Shinji felt the tightness in his chest ease. They hardly ever spoke now—Shinji wouldn't know what to say anyway—but slowly Asuka was beginning to come out of her shell more and more. When she had first left the hospital she hardly spent any time out of her room, only to eat or use that bathroom. She had isolated herself from everyone by her own choosing, perhaps feeling embarrassed at what had happened to her.

But now Asuka was coming back to her old self, especially around Hikari. Shinji was very glad about that, though it did not affect the icy relationship he had with her. Just seeing Asuka find some measure of happiness, however small, felt good.

He didn't know why, but Shinji thought it would have been just as good to have Rei be more like Asuka. To have her laugh a little.

“Why are you smiling?”

Shinji shook his head, snapping back to reality. He returned his attention to Rei, realizing he had been staring at Asuka, whatever expression had been on his face vanished. “Excuse me?”

“You were smiling,” Rei said. “Why?”

Had he? Shinji had not even noticed. “It's nothing. I just … I was thinking of something that made me feel good.”

“I see.”

Shinji wasn't sure what she meant by that. Maybe had misunderstood the gesture, as she was not quite adept at human interaction, and even less adept with feelings. But the possibility that he might have been smiling over Asuka felt too weird so Shinji changed subjects. “So … listen, Rei, at least promise me you'll look after yourself.”

“My fate is in the hands of other people,” Rei said. “I have accepted that. You should as well. Doing anything else would just be painful.”

Shinji felt a taste of bitterness in his mouth. Sadly, he knew exactly whom she meant by ‘other people.’ But his father didn’t care for her any more than he cared for him. He didn’t think Rei was naïve enough to believe he did. If nothing else, the slight hint of resignation in her voice was proof.

Rei knew she was being used.

There was no time for Shinji to discuss his feelings about his father. The bell suddenly rang, followed immediately by Hikari's call for the students to go back to their desks. The girls around Asuka scattered, chatting until the very last moment. The redhead peered over her shoulder—either at him or at Rei, Shinji couldn’t tell—then again turned away and took her seat. For a second he thought he saw a sour expression come over her pretty face.

She was probably mad at him, he thought, but couldn’t think of anything specific he might have done. Asuka didn’t need a reason to be mad. Rei, for her part, gave no hint that she’d even heard the bell in the first place; her blank expression didn't change.

Shinji never stopped being amazed by the polarizing extremes of their personalities.

Quick returning to his desk next to Kensuke, Shinji dropped into his seat and pulled up his computer screen. Within a minute he had to stand and sit again as the teacher entered and Hikari called, “Rise! Bow! Sit!”

Looking around him, the rest of the scene seemed almost unreal. Regular students in a regular classroom, doing what students did in classrooms every day of the week. Nowhere was it evident that for three of them it was little more than a farce.

The teacher began his lecture in earnest, ignoring the dozens of bored faced doing everything they possibly could to pass the time without appearing to be doing just that. Most of them simply pretended to take notes while really playing with the computers.

His blue gaze descended to his own screen, and Shinji saw he had a message waiting to be read, from S.Asuka_Langley no less. He hadn't even noticed her typing, and Asuka never sent him messages. Curious, he clicked on it.

'Don't stand in front of the door next time and I won't yell at you, deal?'

Shinji blinked, confused. He looked up and saw Asuka sitting perfectly straight in her chair, not moving, her golden-red hair falling down to the middle of her back.

He read the message again. Even in her sharp, haughty voice it almost sounded like she was saying sorry. And though that was probably not the case, he wanted desperately to believe Asuka wouldn't have sent such a message for nothing.

 

Unit-00 was not ready, but it would have to do for now.

Most of its armor was still missing as it was being secured to the cage by means of an improvised restraining system. Only the helmet, in its bare orange primer with its single red eye, was in place. To Ritsuko's keen eye it resembled a huge, lanky humanoid, though it wasn't exactly human-looking. The skin was several tones of brown and gray, depending on the origin of that particular component, covering lean muscles that were slightly off in comparison to human proportions—the limbs were too long and the torso much too narrow.

It was truly a modern Frankenstein's monster, its body was a patchwork of components, some cloned, some regenerated, and some, like the spinal cord and head, were actually spare parts of older failed models kept in the depths of the facility. 

Even Unit-00's core, protruding as a dark red sphere from its chest, had to be scrounged together since Central Dogma lacked the ability to make it from scratch. The core contents itself could only be transferred, not copied or duplicated, and this was an issue that might create problems with interoperability. Ritsuko was aware of the shortcomings inherent in the system. Thankfully, the pilot's singular origin allowed some leeway in that respect.

Unlike other pilots, Rei was not intrinsically linked to a specific core. The normal relationships between pilot and Eva did not apply to her, and the nature of the link between her and Unit-00 was not the same as anyone else. Earlier cross-synchronization experiments had already determined her limited ability to pilot Unit-01. As she should be, all things considered. 

Leaning her elbows against the safety railing, Ritsuko looked down at the armor-less Evangelion with contempt. She had a hand pressed against the side of her face, a careworn expression on her features. She had been standing there for a while, thinking how much she hated it.

The irony was not lost on her. This was, after all, her life's work. At least her mother could say that MAGI had reflected who she was as woman, a mother, and a scientist. That it represented a part of her. Ritsuko did not share that kind of connection with any of the Evas. They were not a part of her. She had come to loathe them. And Unit-00 was the most loathsome of the group.

It wasn't really the first anymore, so calling it the prototype would not be an accurate identification. Technically, it was the last. But Ritsuko hated it as she had its predecessor, probably because of who was its pilot. And even that did not represent any kind of continuity, since Rei Ayanami, like her Eva, was basically a thing only recently created. But the pilot she was meant to replace, and the woman whose genes she shared were gone, and they were never coming back. 

If only he would realize that then maybe … 

Ritsuko ground her teeth in anger. She had told Rei that she hated what she represented, but that was an odd way of putting it. It implied a distinction between who and what she was, as if the essence of a person could somehow be separated from the physical shell of the body in inhabited.

As far as Ritsuko was concerned, it was a ridiculous idea. The AT Field bonded physical and non-physical elements of reality into one being. Even Rei could not transcend that, regardless of what she was.

She should have just told her how she felt about her, Ritsuko thought. Rei wouldn't care and it would have made her feel better.

“A penny for your thoughts, doctor.”

Ritsuko recognized his voice at once, and turned her head to see Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki standing there, his hands in his pockets. He looked fatherly, as he always did, an interested expression carved on his heavily-lined features.

“Nothing important,” Ritsuko said, trying her best to smile.

“You look tired.”

Ritsuko shook her head. “I must be crashing.” 

If anything Fuyutsuki seemed more understanding. “Caffeine is good for what it is, but it's no substitute for real rest. It's good to remember that. I have seen even the best students burn out.” 

Ritsuko said nothing. Her days as a doctoral student belonged to another life, one in which her mother was both a challenge and motivation. The Great Doctor Akagi—how could anyone live up to that? 

“Are you worried about the activation?” Fuyutsuki said, his gaze leaving Ritsuko and wandering over to Unit-00. “I see they have locked it down already.”

Ritsuko straightened, taking her elbows off the metal railing. “There are so many things that can go wrong,” she said. “I would feel better if we waited until the dummy was complete, but, alas, we don't always get what we want. Experimenting with the Tablet doesn't help, I suppose.”

“Rei should be able to handle it,” he said.

“Theoretically,” Ritsuko corrected. “With all the modification she should be able to handle it. I have already prepared a synthesized version for Unit-02, but there's no telling what will happen for sure. Giving Unit-00 test priority makes sense, since at least Rei can synch with it.”

Fuyutsuki picked up on her dark tone right away. “But you don't think it's wise?”

“What I think doesn't matter,” Ritsuko said, turning back to look at Unit-00. “Nothing I say can make him change his mind.”

“I suppose the same goes for myself,” Fuyutsuki said, nodding approvingly towards Unit-00. “Lieutenant Ibuki did a good job, didn't she?”

Even if he didn't say it, Ritsuko was aware that a compliment on the student was also a compliment on the teacher—on her. But she didn't feel complimented. Oddly, she felt like she wanted to be back in her cell. At least then she wouldn't feel forced to look at this thing anymore.

“Indeed she did.”

 

"Financially speaking, this city is a like a black hole: it sucks every yen that comes within a lightyear." Junichi Nakayima said, as he tried to mask his disgust from the Tokyo-3 Council. "The Japanese Government and the MOI do not mind this fact, but some heads are beginning to turn in this direction. That is not a good thing, gentlemen."

This was the part of the job that he really hated. He had spent most of his life as a soldier, not a politician, and despite what Kluge said, making that change was not easy. A soldier always knew who the enemy was, a politician thought everyone was the enemy and consequently turned into the scum that soldiers were then sent to destroy.

It made Nakayima sick that he had to play the political role just to keep his cover.

"You are right, Nakayima-san. That is not good." Yamamoto Hibiki, chairman of the Council said. "But I'm sure that your are aware of the magnitude of this operation. Money is needed in vast amounts."

"That is all acceptable. What isn't is the fact that the funds were made available to you six weeks ago and we have yet to see any progress." Nakayima cast a glance at the other members of the council. They were all old men, which reminded him of the old Politburo he had read had ruled Russia in the middle and late twentieth century.

"When working in the field you can not guide yourself by any schedule,” the chairman replied. “As a former military officer, you can surely understand that. The engineering required—it isn’t like building a model airplane."

"As a former military officer I also understand that excuses are the last resort of a cornered ally," Nakayima said, bluntly. So much for politics, he thought. “And I also understand that objectives are measured by their inherent usefulness. There isn’t a lot of that coming out of Tokyo-3 these days.”

"Nakayima-san." Chairman Hibiki said as he rose to his feet. "This council is fighting a war on two fronts: The Ministry on one side and NERV on the other. We have to go about this in a way that will please both, because your organization has failed to get rid of NERV like you promised. At least the UN knew how to stay out of our business, which is more useful than the incessant oversight of government."

Nakayima tilted his head provocatively. "Are you saying this is our fault?"

"No," the chairman said, shaking his head. "I'm saying that, for us to work more efficiently, one of these two fronts most be eliminated: either you scratch NERV, or the Ministry gets off our backs."

"Neither is possible at this moment." Nakayima said. He would have loved to simply shoot the chairman and end the argument. “We can not get rid of NERV, and we are the civilian authority so we are not going anywhere either. The taxpayers have a right to know what their money is being spent on.”

“Then your complaints, while duly noted, simply add to the uselessness. We can not be hounded like this, regardless of what your boss says. He is not an economist, after all.”

The gathered men nodded and whispered their agreement. Nakayima had been told to expect this reaction, but even without being prepared for it he would have found it fairly predictable of people interested in keeping only their power.

“I was not assigned to be a burden,” he told the council with fake pleasantry, “simply to remind you of our finite resources and the need for some returns on this investment.”

“Then you should let us do our jobs,” another of the council members said. “That is our duty after all. And you should stop implying what everyone in this room is certain you are implying, Agent Nakayima.”

Nakayima bit his lip to keep from making the reply he wanted to make. This councilman was much younger than the rest, which probably accounted for his tactlessness.

And he must still be twenty years older than me, Nakayima thought.

What the hell was he doing with his life?

His father had once asked him the same question, when a 17-year-old Junichi Nakayima had told him he’d lied about his age to join the military. Up until that point the idea had been for him to follow on his father’s footsteps and become a politician. It was what the entire family wanted from him; the future they had chosen for him.

He joined the military to spite them—there was honor in fighting for something instead of lying for a living. His father had threatened to disown him, but he didn’t care. All his life he’d felt alienated, now he would be free. When he shipped out there had been no one there to bid him farewell. It hadn’t bothered him.

Fake sincerity was worse than no sincerity. It was just more lies. Exactly the sort of thing he was trying to do now. It seemed his life had come full circle despite his best attempts.

“Gentlemen,” another of the assembled men spoke up. “I am sure it is better for everyone involved to get along here. Instead of trying to trip each other up at every turn, we should focus on our common goals—that is the reconstruction of the city we have been entrusted with.”

“Very much so,” Nakayima said, reminding himself that he didn’t have to like what he was doing. “We have to trust that each of us here has the best interest of the city at heart. It’s the only way anything good will come out of this situation.”

He just had to follow orders. Some orders were just harder than others.

Nearly an hour later the meeting finally adjured. Slowly, the councilmen left the room as deliberately as men who were not used to being rushed were inclined to do. More than one of the them gave Nakayima suspicious stare, though lacking any real resentment.

The conference room empty, Nakayima dropped into one of the chairs. His sore body complained as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

He was ready to go home. Hopefully, to get some sleep after another night spent trying to hack through NERV's servers. Even after months, it was still impossible. The security was simply too tight. But for the most part all he had to worry about was boredom so it was a rather cushy part of his job. Then, several nights ago, things had almost gone really wrong.

Nakyima had not been aware that there was anyone in the room with him until he heard the footsteps on the ladder, and then on the desk. He had set himself up in a corner between two server towers, mostly because it would help conserve body heat and because the servers themselves ran hot. Quietly but quickly, he pressed his back against the wall and reached into his uniform jacket for his gun, hoping against hope that he wouldn't be forced to use it.

He did not want to kill anyone. Not ever again.

When the footsteps began to fade, he scooted forward and peered around the server hiding him from view, catching a glimpse of a red jacket. He knew who she was instantly—he had seen the jacket earlier in the day.

Misato Katsuragi.

None of the questions that arose from that meeting made sense to Nakayima so he had pushed them into the back of his mind, along with everything else he tried to keep from thinking about. It was getting rather crowded back there recently. 

Nakayima opened his eyes again and looked around the room. It was all so very pointless, but he had no excuse not to try anymore, and his boss was not known for his patience. Results were all that mattered. Results that, by now, he was sure he could not deliver. 

 

Asuka tossed her wet towel on the bench that ran down the length of the locker room, next to her discarded plugsuit, and reached into her locker for her panties—and caught a glance of the young, slender girl with blue eyes and golden-red hair opposite her. She clenched her teeth, feeling a sudden, vicious impulse to slam her fist into the mirror.

It was just so unfair that she couldn’t wake up one morning and be an adult already, puberty be damned.

Being a teenager was like being stuck in limbo. She was not a child anymore but was not a woman either; barely even had any pubic hair but had to endure the physiological consequences of womanhood every month in the form of her period; wasn’t ready for sex but wanted nothing more than to somehow fill the emptiness she felt inside of her; wasn’t even old enough to buy liquor, not even close, but had to watch the stupid commercials on TV telling her how it could solve all her problems.

Since she was a little girl, Asuka had been aware that most people saw her very negatively and thought she only cared about herself. But the reality was different—if she could now choose to be anyone, the last person Asuka would choose to be was herself.

Before she would have at least had her Eva.

Though she had no reason to be surprised anymore, her latest synchronization test had been awful. After weeks of trying she was still only barely above the starting indicator. Without really knowing why she always expected some improvements that never materialized, and left her feeling bitter. The constant reassurance from those around her didn’t help because she knew they were lying. There was nothing more any of them could do; she was just too badly broken.

Her life had become a vicious cycle of self-loathing, deep anger, and failure. That Shinji and the doll had been around today to see her fail only added to her ire.

Asuka bent over, holding open her panties in front of her and quickly stepping into them, then pulling them up her legs as she straightened.

She dropped her head to avoid looking at her reflection again and snatched her bra angrily off the top shelf, and wriggled her arms into it. Next, she put on her blouse and worked her way up the buttons before slipping into her uniform jumper, which she clasped securely around her narrow waist after tucking in and pressing her blouse.

All this she did in a rush, moving purposefully.

She had rushed through her shower routine too, only taking long enough to rinse the worst of the LCL out of her hair and scrub herself down to prevent the liquid from forming a sticky residue on her skin, then hurriedly drying off. There had barely been time to register the pleasant feeling of the hot water cascading down her back.

She would have liked to linger, enjoying the feeling of warmth as a steamy mist rose around her, but not today.

Today she needed to be done before …

Rei Ayanami entered the locker room like a white ghost, her footsteps making only the faintest sound, and walked over to her own locker, a few places down from Asuka. The redhead tried to ignore her as she began undressing, unbuttoning her blouse and folding it neatly before moving on to removing her skirt.

The proximity of the doll was enough to make the hairs on the back of Asuka's neck stand on end. She hated the girl—that was no mere hyperbole. She had hated Rei Ayanami since the day they met, and hated her even more ever since the First Child had saved Asuka from the Angel that broke into her mind. And then there was her relationship with Shinji.

Asuka had long since stopped wondering how she could feel such vile emotions towards her. Like her, Ayanami was barely a teenager, not old enough to even be properly called a woman. She hardly ever spoke—certainly never spoke to Asuka—and they only saw each other at school so it was not like they were often in close contact. And they had both been through a lot. In another universe they might have been able to comfort one another.

But as uncalled for as it might be, Asuka just hated her.

Plain and simple hatred.

As Rei continued to undress, Asuka found that she could no longer stand being in the same room with the doll. She promptly emptied her locker and slammed the door shut loudly. Holding her book bag, neural connectors, shoes, and socks in her arms, she stormed barefoot to the entrance, brushing past Rei's now topless form.

“Is there a problem, Pilot Soryu?” Rei asked as Asuka walked by, her voice soft and flat.

Asuka stopped on her tracks but did not turn. She was clutching her belongings so furiously tight that her arms hurt, her slender hands turning into claws. “No.”

The word could have easily been a thrown dagger.

“Am I required to ask about your test? Do you wish to have a conversation with me? I am usually never alone with other girls my own age.”

“Just shut up,” Asuka spat. “I don't want to talk to you. I don’t want to hear you. I don't even what to look at you. Just being around you makes me sick.”

“Oh,” Rei's voice did not change, and if she was offended at Asuka's tone she hid it well. “Is there something I could do to--”

“Make me like you?” Asuka interrupted her, turning her head to glare at her over one shoulder. “Sure, there's one thing. You can die today.”

Rei's porcelain face did not change. She didn't even blink. And the lack of a response just angered Asuka all the more. What could Shinji ever see in this doll—this perfect little emotionless doll? How he could he possible choose that over a living, breathing human being like herself, who actually had a mind of her own and could feel things?

Or maybe that was why he was so close to Rei Ayanami—like his father, maybe he just wanted a doll that would do whatever she was told. A doll who would never talk back, who would die for him if he wanted her to. It was sick.

Asuka would never be like that, regardless of how desperate and lonely she felt. She would never be a doll.

Realizing the pointlessness of saying anything more, Asuka resumed her pace. But now there was something heavy in her chest. The thought of Shinji and Rei had, through whatever strange alchemy anger held over the mind, created a tight sensation that threatened to close down like a pincer around her heart.

By the time she made it to the entrance Asuka could hold back no longer. “Stay away from Shinji,” she said. “He doesn't need somebody like you.”

“Is that what he thinks?” Rei said, again her voice was soft but completely emotionless.

“No. That's what I think. Stay away from him.”

“I should imagine that if the Third Child no longer is to associate with me, then that should be his decision, not yours. Even if you do have his well-being in mind. If he does not want me to speak to him, he should tell me. I would not be angry.”

“Pathetic!” Asuka laughed bitterly. “So the doll wouldn't even mind being dumped like yesterday's garbage? I didn't realize you were so well trained.”

Rei shook her head slightly. “It is not training, but if Ikari should make that decision then I would hope to understand it. I would not begrudge him for it.”

“Whatever,” Asuka retorted with barely controlled anger. “Stay away from him. For his own good. And yours. Unless you want to have a problem with me.”

Rei shook her head. “I do not understand.”

“Sure you do. You might be able to fool Idiot-Shinji with your act, but you don't fool me. I see you for what you are—a heartless doll, incapable of feeling anything. So what's the point in having someone have feelings for you? Ha, what's the point in even being alive? That's why I really want you to die in your Eva today. You'd be doing everyone a favor.”

Leaving those words to hang in the air, and her own shrill voice filling her ears, Asuka rushed out of the locker room. It wasn't until she made it to the other end of the hallway that she spotted a small equipment closet and ducked in to finish fixing up her uniform. At the very least to put her shoes on.

“Stupid,” Asuka growled under her breath, not sure if she was still cursing the doll or herself. She threw her things on a nearby crate, and stood there in silence for a while.

 

Shinji Ikari felt his entire body relax in the darkness, giving in to the odd and familiar sense of belonging. As he slowly breathed the LCL that filled the metallic confines of the entry-plug and soaked everything, echoes and whispers seemed to float out to him; things he could not understand but that somehow made it all better. That gave meaning to what he was doing. But, like a mother's cooing to her child, no questions were answered.

Why was he here again? He promised to himself that he would never do it—it was too painful after what he'd done to Kaworu. And yet here he was, ready to once more ride the beast he had never fully understood.

And it felt...nice.

Comforting somehow, as if the Eva could sense his apprehension and responded to it. Shinji knew this was more than just a machine, that there was a more primal and complex connection happening here, but it didn't make sense. There were still so many things he didn't know. And that was why he was so afraid for Rei.

"Main power activated. Initiating neural connections 1 to 78 on the first block," Maya said over the intercom, her voice more serious than Shinji could recall hearing it. “Proceed to second block upon successful completion.”

He was a part of Eva—all the pilots were. Together, he and Unit-01 created a unique bond that didn't ever seem possible with other people. For a time Asuka had done so with her Unit-02 as well, and indeed her Eva had seemed to be the only thing that could make her happy. But Unit-00 was entirely unpredictable.

Savage.

"Synch status nominal across the board and holding," said a male voice Shinji recognized as Hyouga's. "Activate second block, connections 79 to 134."

"Clearing primary borderline. All green. Safety checks well within the limits." Another male voice, Aoba's. "All A-10 links enabled."

"Initiating third block connections, neural waves nominal."

Shinji tightened his grip on the main controls on either site of his command seat. He felt tense, his heartbeat quickening. He thought about Rei and how she must be feeling. It would be the first time for her—truly the first time, and knowing what had happened before he had no idea how she could find the courage.

He would be safe here, Unit-01 always protected him; Rei was another matter. It was for her that he decided to break his own promise to himself, and why he was here.

Almost a full minute went by before the sound of the speakers echoed again through the quiet entry-plug.

The darkness inside the entry-plug came suddenly to an end, plunging the cylindrical space into a rainbow of swirling color and quickly resolving into a clear cockpit that became like a transparent window from which he could see the outside world. A warped canopy that corrupted even the light that passed through it.

It was a digital illusion; the entry-plug was buried deep inside the Eva, surrounded by flesh and metal and thick armor.

"Final borderline cleared, connections complete. Synch ratio holding at 81.98 % . Battery enabled, external power nominal. S2 engine secured and inactive. Evangelion Unit-01 has been successfully activated."

Shinji sighed. Small bubbles floated from his lips to the top of the plug. That was that—Unit-01 was now activated for the first time in months. His promise was broken. He eased back into the command seat without really ever becoming aware that he had tensed up.

“Nicely done, Shinji,” Misato said over the radio, her voice cheerful. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine,” Shinji replied, doing a quick mental check. “Everything feels like it used to.”

“We'll take care of everything on this end, don't you worry about anything. Maya's on top of things. Ritsuko is here too. Your job's done for now.”

His job was done, Shinji repeated to himself. Not that he ever did anything because the Eva synched to him naturally with no real conscious effort on his part. It worked. It just did. He wondered why it couldn't work the same way for either Rei or Asuka. In the case of the later, it would no doubt do a lot to ease her grief and the heavy feeling of bitterness that seemed to surround her, and in the case of the former ... he still didn't believe Rei belonged in an Eva, period.

And that he was apparently the only one that cared was a source of endless frustration. At least Misato seemed to understand why it was not right, but even she did nothing to stop it. Shinji already knew she didn't have a choice. Like she didn't have a choice about him.

While before he might have a resented for that, now it was so very pointless. Misato did what she could; if she could help it, Shinji himself wouldn't be sitting inside Unit-01. 

“Perform routine system check,” someone said on the radio, a high-pitched female voice Shinji had not heard before. “Second team, move on to Unit-00. Follow pre-determined safety parameters and report as soon as POST is completed before full synchronization.”

“Understood. Unit-00 is ready for POST and reporting.”

He anxiously glanced out of the cockpit-like layout of his plug and saw the blue colored Unit-00.

If Unit-00 went berserk, Shinji would have to stop it—no matter what, he would save the pilot. He was very aware of the limitations of the restraint system holding Unit-01 in place and that it would not hold him if he really tried to break out of it, but he was also sure that Misato would likely release him if the need arose.

“Misato-san?” Shinji called out, knowing she was listening to him.

“Yes, Shinji?”

“Can you keep a communication channel open? I want to listen in while Unit-00 is activated.”

There was a moment of hesitation on Misato's part, then he heard her say, “Ritsuko?” Whatever the blond doctor replied was not audible enough to be picked up by the microphone, but Misato relayed it instead. “Ritsuko says it'll just clutter up the array. Sorry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Shinji sighed, a little disappointed.

It was just like Dr. Akagi to want to keep him in the dark. That woman, who he had once liked, had no compassion in her heart. The way she talked to Rei made him sick to his stomach, like she was just a doll to her.

And, of course, Shinji still remembered watching her destroy the dummy. He still has nightmares about that grotesque scene some times—the Rei look-a-likes falling apart in the LCL, their eyes open and staring mindlessly, and he could have sworn he heard laughter.

To think that Rei, the girl he wanted to protect, had come from that place … 

On the outside a figure clad in a form-fitting white suit then stepped onto the gantry surrounding Unit-00's ghastly, extremely lanky body. Shinji's attention became intently focused on Rei as she walked to the area where her entry plug had just been inserted into its receptacle behind her Eva's armored neck.

There was a detached airiness to her stride, as if she weren't even there. The quiet elegance of her movements and the slender shape of her young body were both accented by her plugsuit, which fitted her like a second skin. Unlike the severe red color of Asuka's suit or the rather neutral blue-white combination of Shinji's own, Rei's was almost entirely white except for a few accents of green on the harness beneath her breasts and the twin dark gray lines running from her backside down along the outside of her legs.

The suit was pressurized in the sense that it was held in place by a vacuum, molding it to the wearer's every curve. While Shinji had never thought he looked very heroic in his suit, despite being assured otherwise, Rei looked dashing and feminine beyond words, a white angel with blue hair.

Shinji knew how frail she was, too. She may not be his Rei, not Ayanami, but she was still a human being. Somebody had to be her guardian angel. Somebody had to care enough about her that they would risk being hurt themselves or hurting others for her sake and break promises for her. 

And that somebody was Shinji Ikari.

That was why he was here, the only reason he had found it in himself to fight the demons of his past and of Eva. He had to protect Rei just as she had done several times for him.

Perhaps it was guilt—in fact, Shinji was pretty sure it was. When had first found out about Rei he had been so terrified of her he cut her off completely from his life. But after months of avoiding her, it seemed like he just couldn't stay away from her. A part of that was no doubt the lingering feelings he still had for Ayanami. Making that distinction between them was almost impossible. Even now, at unguarded moments, he found himself thinking of them as the same person.

That, he knew, was another reason. In protecting Rei, a part of him felt like he was actually protecting Ayanami. He had failed her once, he did not want to do so again. 

Shinji would like to think he would do the same for Asuka if she let him, and for Misato if she needed him to. Did that make him brave? He didn't think so. It just meant they were important to him.

Rei stopped at the foot of her entry-plug. She placed a hand on the huge metal cylinder and stood there for a moment. Shinji could have used the capabilities of the Eva to zoom in on her image and get a better look, but decided that it would be like an invasion of her privacy.

She looked behind herself, and for a second her eyes, distinctly red even from a distance, seemed to stare into Shinji before moving away, up towards the window of the control room. Shinji followed her gaze and saw Ritsuko standing there.

Shinji frowned. Was Rei having second thoughts? Was she not ready for this? Was she being forced?

Then, before he could answer any of those questions, Rei turned back and climbed through the hatch of her entry-plug. Into the darkness within.

“I'll be protecting you,” Shinji mouthed silently to himself, watching her disappear from view and remembering the night when she had said those very same words to him. “I promise.”

 

"All right, that's one down," announced Maya, a little tone of relief slipping through her otherwise serious facade. "Unit-00's pilot is now in place. Flood the entry-plug with LCL."

As the LCL filled Unit-00's plug, its progress tracked by a colored graph on a computer monitor, Misato carefully scanned the control room around her. In front, near the thick armored windows overlooking the cages, Ritusko was looking out at the enormous metal and concrete cage that held the Evas. Haruna, Aoba and Hyouga sat on their respective consoles. Maya stood besides Misato, doing her best to appear calm and collected.

This was project after all, representing months of work and endless concern.

For safety reasons no one else was allowed in the room. Not that were that many people left who could perform high-level procedures like this one effectively. Even Misato was only there in the interest of the children.

"Flooding complete," Haruna called from her station. It would be the girl's second ever activation test—the first having taken places just minutes ago—so the excitement in her voice was acceptable.

"Begin Unit-00 activation sequence,” Maya said. She turned to Misato. “Let's cross our fingers..."

“We should keep an eye on the loading interface for the A-10 connection,” Ritsuko said, not taking her eyes from the thick armored window. Even to Misato, who had known her for a long time, she seemed very tense. “The new program hasn't been tested on a live subject.”

“Live subject?” Misato frowned, the term causing her stomach to turn. She hated Ritsuko's detachment with a passion. It wouldn't kill her to actually refer to the children as people. 

“Yes,” Ritsuko replied without apparently noticing the major's distaste. “Our simulations, while rather comprehensive, are still based on a computer conscience. MAGI can account for certain shortcomings in the human mind but it can not adequately simulate them. Therefore, the results of those simulations still leave an unknown element as to what the result will be when synching Rei to the system.”

Misato almost rolled her eyes. “Of all the things that can go wrong, you are worried about a computer program's results?”

“Unexpected problems often become the biggest problems, Major Katsuragi,” Maya said, and Misato was taken aback by how that seemed exactly like something Ritsuko would say. “I suppose that is a law of experimentation. It's very similar to Murphy's. Doctor Akagi is just being thorough.”

Ritsuko turned her head to give Maya an odd look of approval. Misato felt as though the cold doctor's demeanor had started to rub off on her warm-hearted protégé. Like some kind of disease that would eventually shut out all of the humanity that the young girl might still have left.

“Nothing is unexpected,” Ritsuko replied somberly, returning her attention to the glass. “That's why I wanted to have Unit-01 out there at the same time. Just in case.”

“You mean you want Shinji to clean up your mess in case you calculations are flat wrong,” Misato said sharply. She was not much a cynic but Ritsuko always brought that out in her.

Ritsuko's reply was completely emotionless. “No, the maintenance crews will take of that. Shinji's there to make sure we are still around afterward.”

 

Being inside the Eva was strange—different than before, than anything she thought she remembered. Rei Ayanami had never felt anything like it. It was like being isolated from the rest of the world. As the LCL flooded the entry-plug, she felt its warm grip through the thin material of her plug-suit. And as the liquid rose above her head and she took a breath, she realized it smelled like blood.

Rei leaned back on her seat, feeling the two control sticks she had on both sides. She had never been so alone in all her short life.

Alone ... always alone...

A thought came to mind. She had always felt awkward in this place, the girl that came before her. It wasn't fear or pain or anything as powerful as that, but more of a feeling, a faint sense, that she didn't belong. That there was already something else here. Someone. And she wanted her out.

"We are ready to start." Maya's voice broke through the silence. “Rei, can you hear me?”

"I am ready," said the blue-haired pilot.

"Good. We'll now begin power-up procedures and voltage check on all systems. Please stand by. This channel will remain open for you. Don't hesitate if any issues come up."

A light went through the entry-plug like a tidal wave, a rainbow that had somehow been twisted into a ring running the length of plug's cylinder. And suddenly Rei felt nausea. She immediately covered her mouth with both hands, out of reflex.

"Why ...” she asked, gagging, “does it feel this way?"

"I'm sorry,” Maya replied. “It's your body's natural reaction to the Eva. Close your eyes and think of nothing. We'll do the rest."

Rei nodded and closed her eyes, as instructed, and leaning back tried to clear her mind. Soon the nausea faded. The entry-plug's walls turned into a swirling, patternless rainbow, every color changing and merging with the other. She had read why that happened—the phosphorescent diodes charging to different voltages randomly to reset them.

No, she hadn't read that. It hadn't been her. She was just remembering it, but the experience itself was not her own. Nothing was.

"Initiate the A-10 nerve connections."

A new scent came to her—something distinguishable even with the smell and taste of the LCL filling her senses. She knew this new scent. She hated it, and she didn't know why.

“Rei, are you worried?” Gendo Ikari had asked her after telling her that she would be activating Unit-00.

“No.”

Then another voice echoed in the back of her mind. A shrill, high-pitched tone ringing with she had come to identify as bitterness. “I didn't realize you were so well trained!”

“Why does it feel this way?” she repeated.

“Rei, think of nothing,” ordered Maya over the radio. She said something else, but her voice faded away to nothingness, like someone turning down the volume.

“How can I forget...why...why?”

The words didn't seem to come from her, emanating instead from somewhere in the dark. They felt distant, belonging not to her as she was now but to whomever she had been in the past.

"Your brain signal is spiking. Think of nothing. Relax," Maya said with increasing concern, but the words were lost on the pilot. Rei was no longer listening. She couldn't. Her head was beginning to hurt. “Rei, can you hear me?”

Rei closed her eyes. There was only darkness in her life now.

“Why...did you...have...to...do that to me? I tried to forget...really tried...to leave you behind...to move away...to die, but you wouldn't let me.”

“Rei, you are not making any sense.”

And then there was a flash of orange light. And she couldn't breath anymore. Her skin burned as if her plug-suit had suddenly been set on fire. Her head throbbed, painful blows of a hammer against her skull.

And she felt herself fall—her heart, her mind, her whole being just falling, further inside the Eva until she recognized nothing but deep sadness and despair, and a loneliness so thick it was what it must have felt like to die.

“Rei?”

"Linkage sequence complete,” Aoba reported, his face a mask of concern. “Abnormal brain signal on all circuits. Initiating first Link-up phase. Should we continue?" he raised his head as he said this and looked expectantly at Maya.

Instead it was Ritsuko who replied. "Is it tolerable?"

There was a moment of hesitation. Then, the answer, "Barely."

"Continue,” Ritsuko said, ignoring the look of protest on Maya's face. “Lets get this over with as quickly as possible," she added.

Aoba went back to his console, but not before looking at Hyouga, who shook his head.

"Brain activity has increased exponentially," Haruna called out from her console. "The synchro-graph is all over the place. Patterns are shifting continuously."

"Rejection starting in central nervous system! Abnormal readings on all levels!" Aoba shouted.

"How can you continue with this?" asked Misato, stepping closer to Ritsuko and reaching out a hand to grab her by the arm. “This isn't safe anymore. You are putting Rei in danger for the sake of an experiment.”

"We are within limits." Ristuko stared her down. “There is no physical threat to the pilot.”

Misato turned to Maya. “Lieutenant Ibuki, you will call this off immediately.”

Maya looked at her for a moment, then at Ritsuko, and dropped her head apologetically. And it was then, her insides clenched with anger, that Misato realized Maya was no longer responsible for Unit-00. Ritsuko was in charge here.

"Rejection spreading to other systems!"

"Abort test!" Misato yelled, wheeling back to Ritsuko, who just stood there calmly looking outside the window at Unit-00. “Ritsuko!”

“Not yet,” Ritsuko said. “If this is ever going to work, we need as much usable data as we can. There will not be another chance. I know it must seem harsh to you, Misato, but that is simply because you do not know the consequences of failure.”

“Second thought pattern detected!” Hyouga all but screamed.

Maya jerked her head in his direction so fast it was wonder her neck didn't snap. She rushed to his console and leaned over his shoulder. “That's impossible.”

Misato moved back to get a look at his screen—sure enough, where should have just been one jagged line indicating Rei's thought signal being broadcast from her A-10 connectors, she saw two lines crossing each other and merging back into one.

“Is that some kind of mental contamination?” Maya asked no one in particular.

“Not over a closed system,” Hyouga said, staring at his own screen. “The only thing that should show up here are Rei's brain waves. Maybe it's some kind of thought noise randomly coalescing into a wave pattern on a close enough frequency to be picked up and cause interference?”

“Mathematically, what are the odds of that?”

Hyouga shook his head. “I don't think we have numbers that big.”

“It's a malfunction,” Ritsuko said calmly. “A misread. The sensors should only be picking up Rei's A-10 wave because it is the only link that can exist between the pilot and the Eva. The most likely cause for two signals would be equipment failure. In fact, the entire system seems to be breaking down. We'll have to try to diagnose the problems one by one and fix them.”

“But ma'am—”

“What else are you suggesting, lieutenant?” Ritsuko interrupted Maya's protest, her voice as no-nonsense as Misato had ever heard it. “That you think there is a second mind in that Eva? Is THAT what the Commander should expect to read in your report?”

Maya's manner changed immediately, to that more befitting a chastised little school girl than someone of her rank and experience. “No, ma'am.”

“Purge the system,” Ritsuko ordered. “Do we still have communication with the pilot?”

“Just static,” Aoba said.

“Vitals?”

“Steady pulse. LCL temperature and pressure are normal. Video monitoring equipment not responding, but other than the synchrograph, she would seem to be fine.”

“We can't go on,” Misato said. “Not without knowing for sure that she's alright.”

“She's fine, why wouldn't she be?” Ritsuko said with a certainty that was contagious. “Maya?”

The short haired girl looked extremely uncomfortable. “I … don’t have any reason to think otherwise.”

“See?” Ritsuko said coolly. “I don't suppose you'd want to consider the fact that we essentially had to put Unit-00 back together from scraps. There were always bound to be problems like this.”

Misato had to reluctantly concede the point. Aside from the errant readings—readings they all agreed could not be explained—there was no real danger. She was not in agreement, but there was little she could do.

“I'd feel better if we could talk to her,” Misato said.

“So would I. Her direct input would be very useful.” Ritsuko turned back to the assembled crew. “Change over to log diagnosis. I want a record of everything we do.”

A series of positive acknowledgments followed that order.

As much as she hated thinking this way, if nothing else Rei was a valuable asset. Ritsuko would be damned if she risked her needlessly. That, at least, gave her some measure of comfort. Maybe she'd be able to keep this promise to Shinji after all.

 

The cloudless sky was a deep crimson, the color of blood diluted in water. Beneath it lay a vast orange ocean, the glass surface completely still as far as the eye could see. There was no wind, no stars, nothing. Rei Ayanami stood in the liquid—LCL, it seemed—up to her thighs, perfectly still, looking down at her own reflection. Behind her was a dead tree, seven decayed branches splitting skywards like bony fingers reaching out from a grave.

“Is this Eva?” she asked no one. Her voice carried on forever over the LCL. She noticed that the lips of her reflection did not move when she spoke. “No. This is someone else.”

She turned her head to look at the tree and realized that it did not have that wooden texture that would be expected from trees everywhere. The whole thing seemed like it was made of shadows, though it did not cast one onto the surface of the LCL.

“Where am I?”

The last thing she remembered was the feeling of nausea as Unit-00 was activated. She heard voices whispering faintly in her ear, stirring locks of short blue hair, but the words made no sense. As if spoken in a language she was not meant to understand.

“Am I dead?”

Nothing. She looked around. She must still be inside the Eva, possibly in some kind of dream-like state induced by the stress of the activation. Since it was her first time, such a reaction could be explained.

After all, the Eva had not felt like anything else she'd experienced before.

“You are different.”

The words were not spoken. There was no sound. Only a chill that ran up her body and somehow transformed into language. She looked down at herself and realized that her plugsuit had vanished and she was naked. But her reflection had not changed—it stared up at her with cold red eyes that could not possibly be human.

For the first time she was seeing what others saw.

She reached down, her fingertips brushing the surface, causing ripples to distort her reflection. She felt suddenly cold. Whatever it was, she was touching it.

“Who are you?” she asked again, unafraid.

Her reflection shifted, its features wrinkling in annoyance. Again she heard that strange voice. “You are different. You do not feel like those before.”

“I am not like anyone else,” Rei said. “I am myself.”

“Are you not afraid?” her reflection asked, red eyes narrowing.

“No.”

“I should have known,” the thing said. “Nobody has ever been able to speak to me as you are doing now. That is how I know you are different. That is how I know of your uniqueness. I am unique as well.”

Rei was curious. “No one has ever spoken to you?”

“Not in this manner. Not like equals,” it said. “If I must answer to questions then I shall say only that I have never been given a name. I exist by myself, a part of nothing else. But I learned from contact with those that came before that to exist by oneself is meaningless. The true value of existence can only be calculated by the contact between beings. My existence is merely my reflection in the minds of others, as they see me. As you see me. So I am you and I am myself as well.”

“Are you an Angel?”

“No. I am free from the Tetragramaton. I am as you are, a creation of man. Those you call Angels are simply an aberration born out of a path that leads to destruction. As everything in nature must have balance, so too existence must have a counter-existence. Your Angels are but alternate parts of yourself. The antithesis to everything you are. Do you not know this?”

Rei shook her head slightly. “Why should I?”

“Because in knowledge lies understanding. Therefore, in that link lies the means by which I am to fulfill my purpose and thus the reason why I exist. Those that came before possessed a wealth of knowledge, experience accumulated through years of heartbreak and loss. They understood fear, loneliness, hatred, love. But you are foreign to all those things. To me you feel ... empty.”

She felt a chill run over her, and the LCL around her legs suddenly became much colder. She looked down at her reflection on the rippling surface, and saw that her face was frowning. Except it wasn’t really her face. She could not feel the muscles of her brow tightening, nor the kind of emotions that went hand in hand with that expression.

“So, in turn, it is I who must now ask you a question,” the voice said again. “What are you?”

“I am Rei Ayanami. I am myself.”

The LCL grew even colder—it felt like it was burning her almost.

She winced at the pain, shrinking her shoulders and drawing her arms closer to herself, but could not escape it. “It hurts.”

“Your name is not an answer. Not even to yourself. It is simply a front created by others and given to you. It does not answer the question.”

Rei shook her head, unable to think of anything else. “Then I do not know.”

“What are you, stupid?” The voice changed halfway through that sentence. The shrill, familiar tones of the Second Child now seemed to pierce the air and stab her everywhere.

Rei had never minded her fellow pilot; the Second Child was loud and hostile in ways Rei simply didn’t understand, but she was only being herself. She didn’t dislike her for that any more than she disliked Doctor Akagi. But now there was something about this voice that filled her dread. Something about what she’d said.

“I do not understand,” Rei called out, keeling forward as she did. “I do not understand. Why does it hurt?”

“I want you to die,” the Second Child’s voice said again. “You’d be doing everyone a favor. I want you to die.”

Would she really? Was Rei hated so much that other really wished her harm? Was everything she thought she knew about her relationships with others just a misunderstanding? Even the things she thought she knew—the feelings she attached to people like Shinji Ikari—were just wrong because she was incapable of comprehending.

Because she was empty.

And she was hated.

The Second's voice came again. “You would die if he asked you to.”

Rei could hear and feel the venom in those words almost as if it were running inside her veins. It stung badly, sparking small flares of pain into an all-consuming firestorm. The answer was obvious—undeniable.

“Yes.”

The voice changed again, into Commander Ikari's. “Rei, are you worried?”

The pain turned to something else—fear—terror—her mind did not know how to describe it. An awful realization of what it meant to be nothing and yet live amongst beings that expected her to understand them.

“I do not want to die,” Rei cried, wrapping her arms protectively around herself, slouching forwards. Her knees remained frozen, the only thing keeping her from falling.

In the LCL, her plug-suited reflection was grinning broadly, madly. “I hate what you represent.”

“Why …” Rei hissed in pain, grimacing, “why does it hurt?”

“Pain is life,” her grinning counterpart said. “Pain validates your existence. And, in turn, it validates mine. You are but reflections on a mirror of sorrow and solitude. You humans, sad creatures. You fear pain as you fear hell, and go about your lives without realizing. Hell is other people … and so is pain.”

And something grasped her underneath the LCL—hard fingers that felt scaly against the soft pale skin of her ankles, her calves, working their way up her legs. She jerked away but the she was held tight on the spot. Her heart was racing.

Laughter from behind her made her turn. She was looking at the tree again, and in her shock noticed dozens of gleaming red eyes staring at her from dark faces carved into the dead wood.

Her own face.

The LCL seemed to explode in front of her, and she turned again. Standing there was herself—blue hair, white-black plugsuit, gleaming red eyes that carried a kind of power Rei had never felt.

She could smell the LCL on her shape, like a mist of blood in the air, clinging to her. The red eyes fixed unto her, wide surreal orbs lacking in all compassion or humanity. The thing reached out a hand and grasped her wrists. Rei shuddered at the touch. It was repulsive. Cold. Dead.

And before Rei knew it she was being pulled down into the LCL, beneath the surface until the red sky disappeared in a rippling mass above.

Rei sank deeper. The light faded, so beautiful right before it died, and in the darkness she heard her own name being called. Over and over.

Ayanami.

 

"Who are you?"

Rei did not know where she was; she did know, however, that it was not in this world. It was a different space, in a different time. Here she felt no sense of humanity. Here she was not Rei Ayanami; she was something else.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

”You know who I am,” the voice answered.

Ayanami.

"Who are you?"

“I am you,” the voice said. “What you were and what you will be. What he made you.”

Ikari.

“He made you human.”

"Was I not human before I met him?"

Rei Ayanami.

“You know the answer.”

“Rei!” Another voice, very familiar and yet vague, like a lost relative she had not seen in a long time. Someone that cared about her and yet was distant.

"Who am I?" Rei asked the new voice, hoping it would answer her. But all her hopes always turned to nothing. Wasn't it a fundamental quality of human beings to keep hoping despite knowing it was useless? That it was hopeless?

“REI!” The familiar voice again, and this time is was accompanied by a feeling of warmth.

"Who am I?"

“REI!”

Rei opened her eyes slowly and gazed at the figure above her, her expression slack, completely blank. Shinji Ikari grabbed her shoulders and shook them slightly in an attempt to wake her.

"Rei," Shinji said, his concern leaking into his voice. He was hovering above her—the entry-plug had been opened but she was still sitting on the command seat. "Are you all right?"

Rei nodded weakly. The world felt hazy, as if someone had taken an eraser and smudged all the details. She saw his young face, his pale blue eyes looking down at her full of compassion and worry, and a sort of undeniable affection. She didn’t understand.

"What … happened?" Rei’s voice was weak and very hoarse, making it sound as though she had been screaming for a long time. She couldn’t remember if she had been. She was exhausted, breath barely clinging in her lungs.

"I don’t know," Shinji said, the emotion finally becoming too much and he seemed to be on the verge of tears, which he brushed away with the back of his gloved hands. “Are you … are you okay? When I saw you were passed out I thought you might have gotten hurt.”

"Is that why you are sad?" Rei asked, innocently. She was like a child asking her parents about the cruel world. “You should not worry.”

"Don't be silly, Rei," Shinji said and hugged her tightly. “I have to worry about you. The only sad thing is that you don’t even worry about yourself. It’s so wrong, but I guess you are just brave.”

“Brave...” Rei rolled her head, and though the warmth of his embrace was comforting the world all around her began to slip away. Brave—she wasn’t brave at all. She just didn’t know how to be afraid, didn’t know because she had never truly had anything to be afraid of.

She had a vague notion that her lips were moving, but the words didn’t register. Shinji’s expression changed, and she knew that whatever she was saying had shocked him. Then finally her own voice came to her.

“Thank ... you … for everything.”

He blinked, his hands slipping around her shoulders as he hugged her again. "You don’t have to. Understand? I will always be there."

There was no answer. It was then that Shinji realized that Rei's muscles had relaxed.

“Rei?” Looking down at her, Shinji saw her eyes were closed. And though her face was her usual calm mask, a heavy sensation in his chest told him that something was wrong. "Rei?"

He shook her gently. Nothing. Rei was limp, like a doll whose strings had been cut. And with the sudden chill of fear, Shinji turned his head and shouted as loud as he possibly could. "MEDIC!"

 

“I suppose there is no need to speculate,” Gendo Ikari said, as he turned away from his second in command to face the blue-haired girl that lay unconscious in the bed. "The system is still too complex for a human subject to control.”

“Even for Rei,” Fuyutsuki said grimly.

“I had hoped that would not be the case, but there does not seem to be a way around it now.”

Rei Ayanami appeared to be sleeping peacefully now. She had been slipping in and out of consciousness and vomiting for an hour or so before Ikari had had her finally sedated to spare any more side-effects. He had tried to talk to her with no success, and even Fuyutsuki had been concerned about the level of empathy he showed her.

Granted, she was the last one but it was still strange that Ikari would care to such a degree. He knew, of course, of the potential underlying reasons for that behavior. Gendo's love for Yui was very strong, and so was Fuyutzuki's.

But they'd both be fools to think of her that way.

Dr. Akagi had done a preliminary check-up, and concluded that Rei was lucky Maya had been fast enough to sever the connections to the Eva and that the flimsy software firewall had lasted as long as it did. Otherwise, the doctor had told Ikari, Rei's brain would have been reduced to a useless pulp.

"Then we must try to find another solution," Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki said. "The fact that both the Eva and the pilot reacted in such a way indicates that the code is simply incompatible with the human brain."

“Not incompatible,” Doctor Akagi said, straightening over Rei, the syringe containing the sedative in her hand. “You could say the human mind is simply not advanced enough.”

"The dummy system should be strong enough to handle the code," Ikari said, turning away from Doctor Akagi towards Fuyutsuki. "But it will take some more time to complete it. We'll have to settle ourselves for using the synthesized version on Unit-02's main interface program as soon as it is advisable."

"Even thought Unit-02 is in such a wretched state?” Ritsuko said. “Its pilot is not yet capable of using it."

"Her synch-ratio is over the starting indicator, that's a beginning," Ikari said.

"We can always use Unit-01," Fuyutsuki suggested. “I know you are against that, but we need a worst case scenario.”

"Not unless it's absolutely necessary. If we can't get the dummy system back up in time, we'll gamble with the Second Child and Unit-02," Ikari said, then turned to his second-in-command. "We always seem to be gambling everything, don't we Fuyutsuki? But, then again, that's why we have survived this long."

Fuyutsuki nodded, but there was enough of an inflection in his superior's voice to tell him that he wasn't really asking. The answer was plainly obvious to all three of them. Finally, Ikari turned over to Rei, signaling that he had no further need for them. Fuyutsuki exchanged a look with Ritsuko on the way out of the room.

The unflinching blonde managed to hold on to her doubts until they were alone in the elevator.

“Do you think he's being unreasonable?” she asked, watching the scrolling floor numbers tick by on the counter. “The Tablet almost presents more risks that any possible benefit.”

Fuyutsuki was not very surprised by her frankness—they had known each other so long that it was permissible despite rank. “In Unit-02 it might not even be an issue at all since the Second Child currently can't synch with it.”

“And what if she can?” Ritsuko said. “You saw what it did to Rei. We have data, of course, but that can only help us so much. Yes, we have modified it, and it should be safe as far as we can tell. Then again, we thought it would be safe for Rei as well.”

The former teacher nodded, listening to her opinion as he always listened to the opinions of his students and colleagues, which included both Ritsuko's mother, Naoko, and Ikari's wife, Yui. “Is he asking for the impossible?”

Ritsuko flashed him a grim look.

“It is possible, but our resources are more limited than before,” she said. “And every mistake costs us time.”

“Time is just a measure of our success.”

“You sound just like him,” Ritsuko said sarcastically, a clear edge to her voice. “You could have fooled me. But the truth is you don't like this any more than I do.”

“I have my doubts,” Fuyutsuki said, very aware that he did not have his disagreement with Ikari from her. She was obviously on his side as far as the Emerald Tablet was concern. Or, at least, its implementation.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ritsuko frowned gravely. “If you have doubts, you might consider backing me up on this. Maybe we can talk him out of it.”

“I have already tried,” he said.

Ritsuko gave him a look that indicated she expected more, some kind of explanation, perhaps. But Fuyutsuki knew when to push an issue and to let it go. He wasn’t very happy with this turn of events but it was a possibility that had long been anticipated.

What could not be anticipated was recklessness—and Ritsuko's decision to carry on the test despite running into problems was nothing but that.

Rei could not be replaced anymore, thanks to Ritsuko’s own doing. She should not be too careless with this last vessel. Accusations, however, would not get them anywhere. Ikari had not made an issue of it, and neither would he.

“At any rate,” Ritsuko said, seemingly choosing to change the subject upon realizing the previous argument was finished, “Rei was the best possible subject because of her unique qualities, and because she is still, essentially, a blank slate that the Tablet's more aggressive protocols could not prey upon. Anyone else would have made the potential for disaster incalculable. It had to be her. The data we compiled will help us create a firewall program for future use. That is the most I think we have gained from this.”

Fuyutsuki looked at her carefully. She had returned her eyes on the floor counter, whether to avoid his gaze or simply out of intense concentration he could not tell. “Always thinking ahead, aren't you, Doctor?”

“But the Tablet did prey on her,” Ritsuko said, ignoring his comment. “And that means—”

“That we were wrong about Rei,” Fuyutsuki finished for her, as he had already considered this. And, he was sure, so had Ikari.

Ritsuko shook her head slowly. “It's not Rei that worries me.”

“No?”

“I fear both you and the Commander posses a fundamental misunderstanding of the situation. You are worried about the technology. But the technology is perfect in the sense that it can be relied on to do exactly what it was engineered to do. It does not fail or second guess unless we instruct it to do so, and unless we do so ourselves. It does not make mistakes. I'm afraid that is exclusively the realm of human beings.”

Fuyutsuki nodded, understanding. “You mean, us?”

She did make a good point, though he did not wholly agree with it. Human fallibility was such a staple of what it meant to be human that it was almost guaranteed under certain circumstances. But human beings had the ability to consciously realize their mistakes and to take steps to correct them. All that was needed was to put aside their arrogance and selfishness, and the inherited desire to hurt one another. 

 

Maya Ibuki sat in the large, mostly empty cafeteria in Central Dogma, nursing her third beer. Because it was a wide open space, with high ceilings and large glass windows that offered a great view of the greenery outside, it was one of the few places in Central Dogma that did not feel like a tomb. But despite that, there was hardly a person in sight.

The lieutenant had never been fond of drinking, but Misato had told her that it would make her feel better. She figured the Major would know. And after Unit-00’s failure and Rei getting hurt, Maya certainly needed to feel better like she needed air. So she had decided to hit the bottle in an attempt to flee drown her sorrows. 

Funnily enough, Aoba had told her once that he preferred her with a few drinks in her, an amusing but annoying thought.

Her fellow technicians were probably still in the cage, running diagnostics of locking everything down. Maya had been excused.

She still didn’t understand what had gone wrong. Even Shinji, a complete neophyte, had not suffered such a severe reaction to the Eva his first time. And Rei had done this many times before. It didn’t make sense for her to lapse like that. Ritsuko had wanted to explain it away, but the explanations felt hollow. In the end it had all been Maya’s responsibility, though the report she submitted carried both of their names.

"Hey, Dr. Ibuki!" The cheerful voice caught her by surprise.

Maya lifted her head just as Junichi Nakayima dropped into the seat next to her.

"Hello," Maya said, in a depressed voice, her hands clamping around the beer mug as if she thought he would try to take it away from her. "Are you working the night shift?"

"Yes. I just got a glimpse of my office, and there was a pile of paper, so I decided to sneak out. I really didn’t sign up for this, you know," Nakayima said. "They told me it would a cushy job, not that it would be mind-numbingly boring. You? I thought you went home."

"No,” Maya said. All the alcohol in the world could not make the dullness she felt now disappear. “I can't go home, not after what happened. Not today."

"Don't blame yourself, Doctor."

"I am not a doctor,” she corrected him harshly. “I’m not even a post-grad. And who else is there to blame? It's my job to make Lazarus work, and it's my job to protect Rei's life. Today, I did neither."

"Don't be so negative," Nakayima said, in his most comforting voice.

Maya could only guess that he had heard about what happened from one of the technicians, apparently from someone who had never heard the phrase 'a slip of the tongue', because this was exactly the sort of thing that would be deemed as classified information. Too bad she was not really interested in keeping secrets at the moment.

"No, Agent Nakayima-san," Maya said, shaking her head. "It is my fault and no one else's. You know the Commander will want my head on a plate now. I don’t think he was too happy with having me in charge."

He seemed truly understanding, which surprised Maya. She had expected he would start asking questions and pumping her for information by now. But maybe she had really figured him all wrong. Wouldn't be the first time. 

"Come on, Lieutenant—I can call you that, right?” Nakayima said and waited for her nod. “Commander Ikari must understand that the only thing to blame here is the circumstances. You get lots of that in the military. Try not to think of it. Go home, take a shower, and catch a nap. Everybody has the right to have a bad day."

"I don't think I can do any of those things right now."

"All you gotta do is go home and you'll start feeling better,” he said. “I'll give you a ride, even."

It really was shocking. This government spy was the last person she’d expect this sort of kindness from. Perhaps it was that she was already drunk, but her tired mind did not even briefly question his motives in wanting to help her.

"And your work?" she said. “I assume it’s important.”

Nakayima waved his hand dismissively. "No one will notice I'm missing," he said "My job is not that important and besides, I need to get the hell out of here before I become allergic to fresh air."

Maya quickly drank the rest of her beer, then got up and followed Nakayima, stumbling slightly along the way. 

 

“So she's going to be okay?” Shinji said into the phone, unable to keep the huge relief he felt from his voice.

He had been anxiously waiting for news about Rei since Misato had practically forced him to come home. She had promised to let him know how she was doing as soon as possible and given all that had happened between them Shinji hadn't questioned that she would. Her call had been a godsend.

“Yeah, Ritsuko says she'll be back on her feet in a couple of days,” Misato said on the other side of the line. “I'm sorry it's taken me this long to get back to you. But there's nothing to worry about. Rei's a tough girl, she's seen worse.”

Finally, after hours of dread and uncertainty, Shinji felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “That's good.”

“Anyway, don't you worry about her. I'll try to arrange for you to visit as soon as she's able to have you, but I've got to get going now, Shinji. I'll be here all night so don't wait up, and don't let Asuka stay up too late either.”

He wished she could see the look of gratitude on his face, the last part of her message not even registering. “Thank you, Misato.”

“I promised, didn't I?” She said, adding hastily, “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead with a click.

As he turned to hang up the phone where it belonged on the kitchen table, Shinji caught his breath: standing on the doorway to the living room opposite him was Asuka, her face set firmly, her posture indicating that she was in a bad mood and already annoyed with his crap even though he hadn't said anything yet.

“Who was it?” Asuka demanded. Her eyes locked on him with such force that he wasn't sure he would be able to reply. “Were you talking to Misato? Was it about my test?”

Shinji shook his head slowly. “N-no, it was about Rei,” he managed. “She wasn't seriously hurt during Unit-00's activation.”

He had added that last part without thinking—he knew Asuka wouldn't care, if she knew about Rei's trouble with Unit-00 at all because she had left the Geo-Front and come home immediately after her own test without so much as talking to anyone.

The comment had simply slipped out, he had been so worried about Rei he couldn't help it.

Asuka scoffed. “Bah, I thought it was something important.”

“Her life is important to me,” Shinji said. “I care about her.”

“I don't even know why,” Asuka said with a frown, and the anger and derision in her voice made him suddenly grit his teeth. “She is just a doll--the Commander’s little doll that will do anything to make her master happy. Why would her life be important to you when it’s not even important to her?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

He didn't like the way that came out either, he made it sound as if Asuka was completely unable to ever care about anyone other than herself.

“I wouldn’t understand?” Asuka's voice began to rise. “I wouldn’t understand!”

She stalked angrily around the wooden table, her frown deepening into an ugly scowl, and pushed in on him until her bare feet were almost on top of his. “You can be so stupid!” she yelled in his face. “She’s just a puppet. Do you think she’ll love you because you care? She’s a doll! She can’t love you! She can't feel anything!”

Shinji could not hold the angry blues of her eyes and so he dropped his gaze, following the slender shape of her neck and down her body, noticing how the oversized mustard T-shirt she wore completely hid the lines of her lithe frame and clung to her so loosely it seemed about ready to slip off her shoulders.

He focused finally on her right hand, clenched into a fist by her side, provocatively close to the spot where the creamy white flesh of her upper thigh disappeared under the hem of her skimpy dark shorts. The garment itself was loose fitting but fairly high-cut, reaching a few inches lower than the shirt, and covered only a little more than underwear would.

It was always awkward to have her like this, barely clothed with hardly a step between them.

“R-Rei is not a doll,” he muttered.

Asuka's hand clenched into a fist. “Look at me when you talk, idiot!”

She stomped down hard on his foot, the impact of her heel sending a dull pain through him. His eyes snapped back to hers instantly, and the contempt he saw reflected on those blue jewels sparked a kind of anger he hadn't felt in a long time.

Shinji recognized Asuka was much too different from Rei to like her, but she didn't have to hate her either. Rei didn't deserve it.

After all, he was different from Asuka too.

“Rei is not a doll!” His emotions getting the better of him, he repeated much louder in a voice that didn't seem to belong to him. The frustration he'd felt directed at himself since Asuka's coming out of the hospital seemed for the first time to turn outwards. “Just because you say that doesn't make it true. She has emotions!”

“She's a stuffed animal!” Asuka barked. “Not even a human being! Just a thing with nothing inside!”

“She is a more of a human being than you are!”

“Fuck you, stupid. And your little puppet. I hope you enjoyed watching her suffer today. It's a shame she didn't just die!”

In that single instant of pure resentment, Shinji raised his hand and slapped her across the face.

And then he froze, and stared at her completely shocked, as much by what she'd said as by what he'd done. Never in a million years did he think he'd have the guts to hit her, no matter how much she deserved it. He could stand a lot from her—he had to or he simply wouldn't have been able to live with her. But actually hearing Asuka wish such a thing on Rei was too much. He had never been so angry at her. His hand stung, it felt strangely pleasant.

Asuka didn't back away.

“Idiot!” she screamed at him, rubbing her cheek where he had hit her. He didn't care—she could scream herself hoarse if she wanted. Her eyes were wide with fury, her lips held back into a menacing snarl, white teeth bared. “I hate you!”

The awful reply spilled from Shinji’s lips uncontrollably. 

“I hate you too! And I hope YOU die!”

For a second he wasn’t sure he’d actually said it aloud, and then … Then something happened to Asuka's face.

Where before there had been nothing but anger, now he saw ... he saw that her eyes were shaking. She did nothing, said nothing, seemingly in emotional shock. Then a kind of hopeless smirk spread over her sharp features, and a gentle noise like a whimper escaped her throat, and her quivering eyes became watery as she were about to ...

Shinji stood perfectly still, but knowing, as angry as she had made him, that he had crossed the line. Even someone as stout-hearted as Asuka had her limit and he had just reached it.

He had just--

And without another word Asuka lunged forward, wrapped her hands around his neck, and squeezed tightly.

It took Shinji a moment to understand what was happening—it didn't seem real. All he could feel were her fingers digging into his soft flesh, strangling him.

He deserved to die for what he had said to her; for the way he had treated her all this time; for making her suffer. If she wanted to take his life he would not stop her.

Though he would have liked to look into her eyes one last time, he did not want the sight of her hateful glare to be the last thing he would remember her by. He would like to remember the girl he had met one day on a ship wearing a yellow sundress, whose pride always seemed to fuel great courage. The girl that had given him his first kiss. She would be rid of him now. He would never hurt her again.

His head forced back by her strength, Shinji closed his eyes in resignation and heard her breathing, ragged and uneven, and then something else.

The pressure on his throat eased slowly. Air and life returned to his lungs, but he felt as if he had already died inside. The world returned to his vision as Asuka's hands fell away from him—a ceiling that was still strange despite having lived here so long. Bringing his gaze down he saw her turn away, still a single step's distance, and bury her face in her hands like a broken little girl.

And then Asuka started to cry.

He had done this to her, like he had done it to Misato, and was shocked by the immediate realization that up till now he had never seen or heard Asuka cry. Not even when at times he thought she should.

She had endured everything she had without a single tear; she was that strong.

But now ...

Swallowing uncomfortably hard and fighting the urge to rub his throat, Shinji leaned closer to her without knowing exactly what he was supposed to do but knowing in the depths of his heart that he had to somehow find a way—words, gestures, anything—to console her.

Shinji lifted his hand as if to take one of her sagging shoulders, and said softly, “Asuka, please don’t cry. I didn't mean--”

“Get away from me!” Asuka bellowed at the top of her lungs, her voice shaking and unrecognizable. She shoved him away violently, sending him stumbling backwards into the front of a nearby kitchen cabinet. “I hate you! I HATE YOU!”

He braced himself against the hard wooden surface, but in the time it took her to say that he managed to catch a glimpse of her eyes again, for a split second only. It was as if something had shattered behind the deep blue irises.

There was so much pain there, so much anger and despair. And he didn't even know why.

Suddenly, his guilt seemed to have stopped the beating of his heart.

How could he, a pathetic doormat as Asuka had often called him, have brought her to this? How deep must he have hurt her to make her cry?

Shinji couldn't stand to see her like this. He was sorry. More than ever before, he was sorry. He wanted to tell her, but before he could utter a single word in apology Asuka spun around and ran off, her golden-red mane billowing behind her. The sound of her anguished weeping as she rushed across the empty apartment filled his ears. Then he heard her bedroom door slamming shut with tremendous force.

And there was silence.

He tried absently to rub away the sensation of Asuka’s strangling fingers from his neck, and stood there motionless for the longest time, leaning against the counter Asuka had pushed him into. He felt the same dreary emptiness he’d felt after Kaworu’s death; the same emptiness that had been hanging inside him since that moment, ever so ready to swallow him as it did now.

Whether it was an echo of that old wound or a new one opening up he couldn’t tell, but the reason was the same.

Kaworu had been an Angel; he had to be destroyed. But Asuka was just a young girl, a fellow pilot, his roommate, and maybe even more than that. It was all his fault. He had hurt someone close to him again—hurt her very badly. She would never talk to him again, or want to see him, or want to live with him in the same apartment. Whatever bonds may have connected them he had now torn apart.

Exhausted, he slid down until he was sitting curled up on the floor. He wrapped his arms around himself protectively and hung his head low between his knees, the relief he had felt at having good news about Rei completely forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” Shinji whimpered to no one. “I’m so sorry, Asuka.”

And as stinging tears began running down his young cheeks, Shinji finally realized what the emptiness that haunted him was.

Heartbreak.

 

To be continued ...


	4. Genocide 0:4 / Expectations

Notes: Same as always. Thanks for Big D for proofreading this on such sort notice. Also, thanks in advance to anyone who actually posts reviews because that seems to have become a lost art.

 

Evangelion Genocide: Extended.

“The most important thing we put into any relationship is not what we say or what we do, but what we are.”--Stephen R. Covey

Genocide 0:4 / Expectations

 

Major Misato Katsuragi sat in the small metal cube that passed for her office. Her desk, usually stacked high with paperwork, was now empty. Leaning forward in her chair, she had her head on the hard wooden surface, her arms folded underneath. Her were eyes closed. She felt tired—more tired than at any time since the Angels stopped showing up.

Back then things had been simpler. Misato knew how to deal with Angels. She reacted as she was trained to do, giving orders and trying not to put those she cared about in any more danger than absolutely necessary. She would prefer the danger because it bred emotional certainty—the world was reduced to means and ends, black and white. Things were always so clear during combat.

Sitting there, all alone and emotionally exhausted, Misato craved certainty.

She should go home, she thought to herself, but home was the problem. Because then she would have to go up to Shinji and Asuka and admit to them that she had made a mistake and face the fallout. She would have to look in Shinji's face and see all the pain she had heard in his whimpering voice as he told her he'd had a fight with Asuka over the phone.

He had been crying, almost hysterical. Misato had no idea what Asuka could have done to him to leave him like that, but had no doubt the redhead could come up with something. Despite how kind and understanding both of them had tried to be to her since getting out of the hospital, Asuka just would not stop lashing out. She would not stop hurting them.

And while Misato could take it, Shinji couldn't, and he should not be expected to. 

It was painfully clear now, but it had been a bad idea to have Asuka move back in. Almost as painful as it was to admit that Ritsuko had been right. Asuka should have stayed in Dogma, and as far away from Shinji as possible. Misato had honestly thought it would be better for her to have some company—after all the time she had spent alone in the hospital she had to want some company.

But Misato had been wrong, and by being here she was avoiding her responsibility to pick up the pieces. Kaji would be ashamed of her.

"Still moping?"

Misato recognized the voice instantly. She did not even bother to open her eyes to look at Dr. Ritsuko Akagi. She heard the blonde woman step into the room, her heels clicking.

"You can call it that, I guess," Misato said, her voice a low drawl, weariness showing clearly. She did not lift her head from the desk. "I don't know what to do anymore. I just don't."

She heard Ritsuko pull a chair and sit in front of her desk.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Misato snickered. “With you? You have no idea how funny that sounds.”

“I don't hear you laughing.”

Laughter—Misato would have given anything to hear Shinji laugh right now. She would give anything to see Asuka smile. She didn't know why, but some of the best things in her life seemed to have become attached to the children. Her surrogate and hopelessly dysfunctional family. 

"I should have listened to you, Ri-chan,” Misato said miserably, unable to wait any longer for the admonishment she knew had to be coming from her so-called friend. She had already told Ritsuko about the fight, in as much details as she had managed to get out of Shinji. “You always know best."

"You couldn't have predicted this would happen, Misato." Ritsuko said, and for a second her comforting tone threw Misato for a loop.

Suddenly not believing this could be the same person whose inhumanity she’d come to despise, Misato opened her eyes. The bright light of her office hurt for a second as she cast her gaze across the desk. Sure enough it was Ritsuko in front of her. And she looked … sympathetic. For once she seemed like she was willing to listen.

And Misato could not hold onto her anguish any longer.

"I don't know what to do. They are really gonna end up killing each other. I can't watch them all the time. I can’t make them like each other. I can’t even talk to Asuka without her hating me. I wish there was a way, to just … reach her. But I can't.”

“I guess we should separate them," Ritsuko suggested. "I can get Asuka a place inside Central Dogma with just a phone call. It should not be a problem as far as housing is concerned. We currently have a lot of room from staff departures.”

Misato shook her head. “I don't think she'd like to live underground.”

“Or I could give her a prescription,” Ritsuko said, then, seeing Misato incredulous face, added, “I mean, if you think her mood has become the problem. It wouldn't be healthy for her to go around showing violent symptoms of personality disorder.”

"Asuka doesn't have a personality disorder. And I’m not going to have her medicated.” Misato shook her head more firmly, determined to avoid anything that would hurt the troublesome redhead more than help her. “No, it’ll likely only make things worse. Besides, I DARE you to make her take anything she doesn’t want to. You’d have an easier time trying to get a tank to stop on a dime.”

Ritsuko didn’t really have a sense of humor, but she did give Misato a grin. “I suppose you are right. What about staying at a hotel? She already commutes to school and here by train. It would just be a longer trip.”

Misato had already considered that possibility, and already dismissed it. “I don't want her to be alone, either,” she said. “I think maybe I should try to get her to stay with a friend. Someone she won't try to kill."

“I imagine that’s a very short list.” 

Indeed, Misato thought, a very short list. Asuka, for all her flamboyance, didn’t really have any friends. Of course, it didn’t really help that she acted like she was better than everyone else. Were she not as pretty people would simply ignore her rather than put up with her. That said quite a lot about just how unlikeable Asuka was. Having repeatedly tried and failed to get close to her, even Misato had to admit it was hopeless.

And then there was Shinji … his withdrawn personality was the exact opposite to Asuka's arrogant one—much more introverted and far less showy. And yet he, unlike Asuka, did have people around him; people who cared about what happened to him and who would stay at his side through good times and bad. Because at least he allowed them to stay.

Misato had the best intentions in bringing Asuka home. She thought she was doing her a favor by giving her the support she needed, the kindness she honestly thought the girl deserved. In reality, all she really did was place an unfair burden on Shinji by expecting him to be able to deal with someone who could lash out as violently as Asuka regardless of how wounded she might be.

Once again, she had failed to take responsibility for her actions. Another failure in a long list. Just once, Misato wanted to do something right. 

After a long silence the reproachful tone Misato had expected finally showed in Ritsuko's voice.

“You are not leaving yourself a lot of options. I understand you have reservations, and your reasons are sound, but you are not going to find a solution that makes you happy. Not with something like this. You have to settle for the best option out of a bunch of bad options.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Misato retorted. “You don't care. But it's not my happiness that matters here.”

Ritusko sighed. “You know what I meant.”

Misato said nothing to that. Of course she knew, just as she knew Ritsuko was right—there was no good option, just lessening degrees of bad ones. But which one would likely trouble Asuka the least? Staying with Shinji was not an option at all, so she had to go somewhere else.

“Well, I don’t think I can help with this,” Ritsuko added, quickly noticing the other woman's reluctance. “I'm sure you would agree that human relations isn’t my area of expertise. Give me a computer and an on-off switch. But you are their guardian. It's your call.”

Misato almost chuckled. That was as good as self-deprecating humor got for Ritsuko, and that she would recognize that in herself instead of offering her usually cold retorts told Misato she was taking the situation seriously.

And she was here, which meant she was either worried about the children or Misato. Maybe both. 

“You know, you are such a good liar, Ritsuko Akagi,” Misato said after a moment. “You walk around making everyone think you don’t have a heart, but you are really a big softie. Deep down. Very deep down.” 

Ritsuko made a face that indicated she didn’t quite agree, but just as she was about to reply Misato heard a strange humming noise. The blonde reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a vibrating pager.

“Duty calls,” Ritsuko said, getting to her feet.

“You know, they do have these wonderful things called cell phones these days. You can actually talk to people on them.”

Ritsuko shrugged, putting the pager back in her coat and turning to Misato. “There's the problem. You have to talk to people.” Her face hardened. “Just so we are clear, when you decide what to do make sure to let me know. I must be able to get in touch with Asuka. Unit-02 might not be functional at the moment, but it is still important and we can't afford to let Asuka sit idle. After all there's a reason we released her from the hospital.”

Pursing her lips, Misato fought the urge to think that might have been Ritsuko’s real reason for talking to her all along.

"I will," the NERV Major said. "Don't worry, this won't interfere with your project."

"See to it that it doesn't, Misato," Ritsuko said, her tone serious. "The Commander is displeased enough with Lazarus's setbacks. Problems with the children are the last thing we need now. It’s important that we stick to our schedule."

Misato pressed her lips into a pout. "When are you going to tell me exactly what's going on? There are no more angels."

She had asked that a dozen different ways now. There was never an answer.

"Angels are not the worse that can happen to us. Don't worry. I wouldn’t keep anything crucial from you, if only on the basis that I’m not a tactician and tactical abilities are required. The Commander understands that too." 

Misato straightened up and locked her dark eyes with Ritsuko's. “In other words, you’ll just ring your little bell when you need me.”

“Everyone likes being needed. In your case I think it's more an issue of usefulness.” The blonde doctor shook her head and smiled weakly. "You look like hell, Misato." She reached out with a hand and tousled Misato's long purple hair. "Asuka and Shinji are not the only ones you should be concerned about. If you don't want to go home, that's fine, but do get some rest."

"Nah, I think I'd rather have a beer." Misato ran a hand through her hair, making a show fixing it up.

Ritsuko made a disapproving face. She said nothing as she turned around and headed through the door into the hallway beyond, heels clicking away into silence.

Once again Misato returned her head to her desk and closed her eyes, replaying the options Ritsuko had given her and her own objections. 

Then, deciding that she wasn’t going to help anyone by sitting around moping, Misato picked herself up, reached into one of her desk drawers, and pulled out a little address book. Had she been a good guardian, she couldn't help thinking, she would have already programmed the number she was looking for into her phone. She had just never had the time. Never thought to bother.

The name and number stared at her from the tiny page—her last resort. It was either this or Asuka would have no choice but to be alone. Only one person would take her in, as she had done before.

So, feeling ashamed that she would have to ask this again, Misato called Hikari Horaki.

 

The images appeared on the tactical holographic display table in groups of three. They were all taken during a span of 15 minutes as the satellite's camera made a pass four hundred miles overhead. A grid had been laid on top of the landscape, outlining topographical contours and enhancing blurry shapes into high-resolution images. Two rulers for scale framed the top and left sides of the display, along with helpful labels depicting altitude, latitude, and longitude.

Fuyutsuki did not need a data analyst to tell him what it was that he was looking at—the pictures showed a massive industrial complex surrounded by a sprawling network of railway lines like the spokes on a wheel, leading to a massive pyramid-shaped central structure. The pyramid was black, with a red cone at the top. From a different angle they might have been able to see the yellow star on the red flag hoisted above the cone.

To the north of the pyramid Fuyutsuki a strange, enormously large humanoid shape being rolled along one of the rail lines in a transport car, its contours distinctive despite the fact that it had been covered in black tarps. They might as well have tried to hide a battleship.

He made an effort to remember everything he knew about this operation, but it wasn't until he saw the time stamp that it clicked.

"Can we confirm that the Chinese Branch has advanced their schedule?" the Sub-Commander asked, leaning closer over the table, hoping that perhaps he wasn’t seeing what he suspected. There was no doubt.

The humanoid shape was an Evangelion, the Chinese-made Unit-A, and it was being transported far earlier than it was supposed to.

"Yes,” Commander Ikari said with the slightest nod of his head. “Our agent tells me that they will be ready for the first activation test within the week, possibly even sooner than that. That is more than a month ahead of schedule."

Ikari wasn’t poring over the photographs. It was likely, Fuyutsuki thought, that he had studied them in advance, or that he simply knew enough to make any visual evidence unnecessary. He stood away from the table, partially shrouded in the shadows produced by the room’s dim lighting.

Fuyutsuki, so close to the table, was lit in its white-blue glow, turning his face paler than normal and at the same time seeming to accent the many recessed lines created by age. To his immediate right stood Ritsuko Akagi, her angular face equally lit, green eyes fixed on the table. Much younger, her features showed signs of constant worry and lack of sleep. The shadows under her eyes seemed deeper than they should have been. She remained quiet as she examined the evidence laid before her with a keen green gaze. Fuyutsuki gave her a glance, and couldn't help the thought that, save for her pale blonde hair, it could have been Naoko standing next to him. Just as it had been in the beginning.

Fighting a pang of nostalgia, Fuyutsuki returned his attention to more pressing matters, to the images in front of him and the danger they represented.

"Do we know that they intend to activate it?" It was likely an unnecessary question, but he hoped to be proven wrong. His hopes were swiftly, predictably dashed.

“We have reason to believe that a pilot has been selected,” Ikari said. “Nothing too specific for now, only that certain arrangements have been made similar to our own selection and preparation procedures.”

“Obviously they did not go to Marduk,” Ritsuko commented, the first time she spoke since entering the room a few minutes ago and taking her place around the display. Her voice was sharp, betraying no emotion whatsoever. In that regard, too, she was like her mother.

Fuyutsuki turned his head to her. His eyes narrowed. “What about core viability?”

“They wouldn't have selected a pilot without a working core,” the bleached blonde doctor said. “Or at least a core they believed they could work with. Otherwise this would be a rather pointless exercise.”

“They would know Marduk is not reliable,” Ikari said from the shadows. “The pilot in itself is not relevant at this point. My main concern is whether or not they intend to use the Tablet for the activation.”

Doctor Akagi nodded. “We have to assume so. There’s no reason they wouldn’t. We have given assurances as to its reliability.”

“All lies, of course,” Fuyutsuki muttered despite himself, a cold trickle of fear running up his back. "Can we be ready in five days?"

Ritsuko was already shaking her head.

“No.”

"We must," Ikari said as he turned his attention fully to Ritsuko. The lenses of his glasses reflected back the light and seemed to glow a solid white, hiding his eyes. “Doctor, I want you to suspend everything else and focus on getting Unit-00 operational. That should take absolute priority. Nothing is as important. Revert to the old configuration as soon as possible and schedule a second activation.”

“Rei is still in the hospital,” Ritsuko said. “The effects of the previous contact have not been fully diagnosed.”

“Is she physically capable of piloting Unit-00?” Ikari asked coldly. 

"The body recovers very quickly.”

Ritsuko’s reply didn’t answer the question directly, Fuyutsuki noted. She always gave a sense of detached indifference when talking about Rei even though the girl's well-being was supposed to be her personal responsibility. To her, Rei Ayanami had never had any intrinsic value as a human being. Indeed Ritsuko openly challenged that definition in some of her more contentious reports. As far as she was concerned Rei served only as a science project; something to be observed from a distance, to be analyzed and experimented on, but not to be sympathized with or become attached to. But that changed the fact that they needed her.

And Ritsuko seemed to despise her all the more for it.

“Then Rei's health status should be of no concern,” Ikari said, betraying no emotion. “Lieutenant Ibuki is still looking for the root of the activation problems. She believes it's because of the complexity of the new programming, does she not? That should provide us with a plausible pretext for the overhaul."

"People are bound to ask uncomfortable questions," Ritsuko said. "Major Katsuragi in particular. I’m not sure how long I can keep lying to her."

"It won’t matter in five days unless we exert the greatest effort. We have no choice. The current situation has to be dealt with first and foremost. Katsuragi’s questions can wait."

Fuyutsuki drew down his brow. That was the sort of dismissive attitude that had landed them in his mess, Fuyutsuki thought. But like a good second-in-command, he kept his fears to himself. Providing the Emerald Tablet to the Chinese had been a calculated risk. They had to be given something to ensure their cooperation as long as NERV needed it. At the same time, however, they were also given specific instructions and timelines.

Ikari had not trusted the Chinese Branch to do entirely as they were told, but he had depended on them to follow the schedule and had dismissed the idea, expressed by Fuyutsuki from the onset, that they were far too self-interested to do as they were bid. Now that he was proven right, Fuyutsuki might have called it predictable. Mankind in general had seldom shown restraint after attaining the capability to wield new, powerful weapons. Japan itself bore the scars. 

In Ikari's mind, the Chinese would understand that they stood to gain so much more by their compliance to NERV's directives—not to mention his own personal authority—that any disobedience ran contrary to the logic of the situation. Such complacency could now prove just as deadly a sin as allowing them access to the Tablet in the first place. Under normal circumstances a standard activation by the Chinese Branch would not trouble anyone in this room, but the use of the Tablet in that activation changed everything. 

“With your permission, then, I will assemble a team and proceed with Unit-00’s re-fit,” Ritsuko said. “I would much rather get started sooner than later. I will also look into clearing Rei for a second activation test as soon as possible. Unless you have any objections.”

Ikari looked at her sternly for a moment, a look that was both a warning and permission.

“None.”

As Ritsuko stepped back from the table and turned to the door Ikari then turned to Fuyutsuki. “Maintain a link to the UN's spy satellites and keep an eye on our Chinese friends. I do not want any more surprises."

"As ordered," the Sub-Commander answered, not watching Ritsuko leave. “Should we alert the Security Council?”

Ikari thought about his answer for a long, silent moment. Fuyutsuki had always known he was not the heartless maniac people seemed to think, that he saw the world in terms of means and ends and not merely wastefulness, but it was reassuring to see it confirmed from time to time. Then, finally, Ikari shook his head and said heavily, “Foreknowledge denotes complicity.”

Fuyutsuki nodded without saying a word. Sacrifices had to be made, and they could be terrible in scope. It was only to be expected under such dire circumstances. He had understood that from the beginning. So had Yui.

And what will happen when we run out of things to sacrifice, he wondered. Would that be the day they were victorious, or the day they died? 

 

“Asuka’s gone to school,” Misato said from the doorway. She meant her voice to be comforting, Shinji was sure, but he felt no comfort from it. “She’ll be staying with Hikari for now. I don’t know if she’ll be coming back.”

It was early in the morning, around the time when Shinji would normally be up and getting ready for school. Asuka would be on his heels, barking orders left and right. Make breakfast, make bentos, put your shoes on—normal stuff like that. Misato would look on them from the kitchen table, shaking her head and wondering how they managed to make it work every day.

They didn’t. They never had. Their interactions were the result of their characters, hers domineering and his subservient, and existed only because they had to. They had never managed to come to terms with another. Not as teens, not as roommates, not even as Eva pilots. Was it surprising at all that they couldn’t live together?

Shinji lay on his bed, facing the wall so that his back was to Misato. His S-DAT had died during the night and he hadn’t felt like changing the batteries. From that point on his only companion had been the silence; he had waited in vain for sleep to relieve him of his thoughts.

He had already been awake for hours when Misato knocked on his bedroom door. Hearing no reply, she had quietly slid it open. Unlike Asuka, he’d never bothered installing a lock.

He wished now that he had.

Misato was looking at him, and he could almost see the pity in her eyes. He could feel it across the room. And it made the guilt harder to bear. He didn’t deserve her pity—if she only knew what he’d said to Asuka she wouldn’t pity him. Even if she knew the redhead had said it to him first, even if she knew Asuka had tried to strangle him. She would despise him, too.

Behind him Misato sighed, finally realizing he wasn’t going to answer her. “Shinji, I understand that some things are hard to talk about. But that doesn’t mean you should keep them to yourself. And you do have people around you who are willing to listen.”

She paused, perhaps to give him a chance to say something. To refute her, maybe, or to tell her how she was wrong and how alone he really was.

What was the point in saying those thing? In saying anything? She was wrong, and he was alone.

“Maybe you could go see Rei,” Misato suggested. “She’s well enough to see you, I think. I’m sure she’d like to have you visit. It’d make her feel better. Don’t worry about school, I’ll make something up. That always works.” 

Shinji kept staring at the wall. He could not, however, ignore the fact that Rei would indeed be someone he could talk to without feeling worse than he did now. Everyone else would drive stake of guilt deeper. Rei would just listen.

Rei—it was because he defended her that Asuka had got upset in the first place. What else was he supposed to do? Shinji could tolerate Asuka being abusive towards him—her insults and her punches had become the routine—but for her to treat Rei, who couldn't even defend herself, that way was more than even the human doormat could bear.

He had done it without thinking, yet he had only thrown Asuka’s own words back at her. They were hurtful words, but they were HER words. She had only been on the receiving end of the same kind of spite she used on everyone else.

That was what it felt like to have someone tell you they hated you, that they wanted you to die. Like she had done to Rei.

But if that logic was true, why did it feel so wrong? Why had it made him cry?

“This is just like what happened with that boy, isn’t it?” Misato continued to talk, as if her words could somehow make everything better. She didn't understand at all. “You felt like it was your fault, even though nobody would blame you. I’m not your mother, Shinji. I know that. I’m not going to tell you everything will be alright. But what I can tell you is that it will never get better unless you decide to make an effort.” 

“His named was Kaworu,” Shinji said suddenly. It was the first time he spoke to her that morning, and the first time he spoke of his white-haired friend. “That boy—his name was Kaworu.”

“Shinji, he was an Angel.”

“He had a name!”

Misato fell silent for a moment. Then said, “Kaworu, then. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She hesitated. “Just think about what I said, okay? Don’t let this be like before. You don’t have to. You are not alone.” 

Shinji heard her move away, the sound of her footsteps slightly muted by her stockings, and then he heard his bedroom door sliding closed. Misato would be going to work and probably wouldn’t be coming back until very late. For all practical purposes she was gone for good.

He was alone, whatever she might say. He felt alone.

 

Hyuga yawned loudly, stretching his arms like someone who’d just gotten out of bed, then turned to Misato. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t get any sleep last night.

“No need to be polite around me.” Misato dismissed him with a shake of her head, wishing that by now he’d grown used to being less formal with her. She wasn’t going to call him on it or anything. “Ritsuko insisted Unit-00 should be worked on overnight, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, me and about very other tech she could find.” He stifled another yawn. “She seems to have found another gear. I don’t know how she does it. She relieved Maya of her charge. Said her progress was too slow.”

The air was thick with the scent of the forest. Talking inside Central Dogma was not advisable—there was surveillance everywhere, and the risk of being overheard was ever-present. But instead of meeting on the watermelon field like they had in the past, Misato had driven them a good distance from NERV HQ to a small clearing south of the pyramid where they now stood, leaning against the side of her car.

“She’s a workaholic,” Misato said. “I think she assumes everyone around her is as well. If you ask me I think that’s an impossibly high standard to expect from people.”

The look on his face said he agreed. “Unit-00 isn't even combat capable. Most of its armor is missing. And it's going to stay missing because we don't have enough components. Regeneration is 80%. One arm is still entirely missing. And she's already looking at clearing Rei for a second activation, despite doctor's orders.”

Misat felt a surge of intense dislike for Ritsuko. “That's just reckless.”

“It gets worse. I tried accessing Rei's recent medical history but it's sealed—military grade encryption. Obviously there's something she doesn't want anyone to see. Why else would she do that?”

“I agree. She's keeping a secret.” For example, Misato thought acidly, the fact that Rei is really a clone, one of a whole aquarium full, and that the Rei everyone has always known actually died and was replaced like a broken part in an automobile.

God, that still made Misato sick. Ritsuko just had to get Shinji involved in that, too. 

“Any idea about the rush?” Misato asked. 

“Only guesswork. I know it was something to do with China. Well, it could be anything really, but our link with the Chinese branch has been on non-stop like we are waiting for something. I have no clue about what is going on over there. But some people are starting to get really mad.”

Misato frowned. “The Chinese have an Eva, right?”

“Do you want the official or the unofficial answer?” Hyuga shifted his weight, turning so that he was leaning slightly on his side, facing her.

“Yeah, I guess it all depends on who you ask,” the Major said.

“That’s what worries me, actually. I have a pen-pal, you see. Inside the Chinese Branch.”

Given how much time he spent in front of a computer, Misato was not surprised to hear that. “Lots of counterfeit movies have come from that friendship, I trust.”

He didn’t acknowledge the joke, nor the hidden implication that it might possible to get something out this supposed person.

“So is this contact of yours any useful?” Misato urged, hoping he would get the hint.

Finally, he did. 

“Well, unfortunately, he's located in Shanghai, not Beijing—a little out of the loop you might say. But he’s been awfully quiet these last few days,” Hyuga said gravely, looking at the pyramidal building in the distance. “From what I gather the UN advisors are going crazy. But the Chinese have only said that they are conducting an experiment. It looks like even people on the inside who would normally be able to send messages out are being prevented from doing so.”

“Your contact has a contact, I assume?”

Hyuga nodded. “Yes. And I might be reading too much into it, of course, but I don't have to tell you what might happen if China gets to make Unit-A operational.”

“The balance is disrupted,” Misato said quietly, already seeing where this was headed. 

“Precisely.” Hyuga continued, “China was never supposed to keep an Evangelion, remember? They were to build one and turn it over to the UN, like Germany. And India and Pakistan are horrified at the prospect of China having an unlicensed Eva. Russia seems indifferent, but you know the Russians. They probably already have one of their own. What is really troubling is the fact that China has been ignoring all proper channels of communication and the government still claims it's just for research purposes, when we know that it isn’t."

“Research of what?” Misato replied, folding her arms. “Why? They have to know we know they’re lying.”

Hyyga threw up his shoulders in a shrug. “God only knows,” he said. “I’d imagine the UN fears that China is doing weapons testing with the Eva. That could create a nightmare scenario: India, Pakistan and Russia are nuclear powers. If they think China is planning something against them they'll hit the panic button.”

“And everyone goes boom, from weapons they’re not even supposed to have. Fucking brilliant—you gotta love the modern age,” Misato said with a lot of bitterness.

More than Hyuga seemed to think the situation called for.

"Major, is there something wrong?" he suddenly asked, though not to Misato's surprise; Hyuga was nothing if not attentive.

She shook her head slowly. “Nothing.”

Hyuga made a face, hinting concern over curiosity. “Major … you know, we don’t always have to talk about stuff like this. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to, well, if you needed someone to vent.”

"It’s not that you haven’t earned my trust, Hyuga," Misato said, carefully treading waters she was not very comfortable in, aware that saying the wrong thing might give him the wrong impression. She didn't want to push him away, but also didn't want to draw him closer. “You have my trust. You are probably the only one I CAN trust. It's just difficult to talk about personal feelings with anyone. Particularly feelings that are ... less than pleasant.” 

“Is it something to do with the Children?” 

Yeah, she was that predictable, Misato thought sourly.

There were really only a few things that got to her the same way that her two teen wards did. Ritsuko had once accused her of wanting to play surrogate mother because it would help her life feel less empty. Misato had to agree there was an element of truth there, but she didn't see how caring for other people could possibly be a bad thing. She still didn't think it was, whatever her present feelings.

Shinji and Asuka represented part of a life she couldn't have, which she didn't even know she wanted until she'd taken them under her wing.

But they weren't family, and her feelings were little more than stand-ins to fill in the void. To make her feel better. Unlike a real mother whose duty it was to keep her family together, all Misato could do to help was break it apart to keep them from hurting each other. 

“Have you been giving it some though?” Misato asked, still sounding slightly bitter despite being guiltily aware that Hyuga didn't deserve it. “Or did you come up with that assumption just now?”

He was taken aback, his manner changing apologetically, and Misato utterly hated herself for making him do it. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, just like Shinji would. “I didn't mean to intrude.”

And it was holding that mental image, that of the brown-haired Third Child lying disconsolate in bed, and of what she had told him before about opening up to people that she realize it was okay for her to do the same.

Shinji was never as alone as he thought—he had Rei Ayanami and his friends, and even herself. And so Misato had Hyuga.

She turned around, leaning tiredly forward and folding her arms on top of the car. She didn't take her eyes away from Hyuga, as if trying to measure his sincerity. “Yeah, it's the Children,” Misato said finally. “They had a fight.”

“But you've said they are always fighting,” Hyuga said. 

“No, this is different,” Misato replied. “I had to send Asuka to stay with a friend. I had no other choice."

“I'm sure you did what was best,” Hyuga said, clearly trying to make his superior feel better. But it was a line Misato had all but grown immune to.

“I don't know what they said to each other. When Shinji told me what happened he was reluctant to say much. He said they fought, but wouldn't tell me anything more. I know it was bad. I can’t blame him, can I? He goes out of his way to avoid confrontation.”

“I guess you can't,” Hyuga said sympathetically. “He is rather easy to get along with.”

“But Asuka …” Misato trailed off, trying to find words to describe the redhead without speaking ill of her. “When Asuka wants to hurt she knows exactly what to say. And she won't even look at me—that's nothing new, really. But this morning I found her sitting in the kitchen wiping tears out of her eyes.”

“Crying?” Hyuga's eyes widened noticeably behind his glasses. “Our Asuka?”

Misato nodded. She couldn't believe it either. “She yelled when I asked what was wrong. You know her, she has to be strong. She can't possibly let anyone near her. And even though I knew she had hurt Shinji just as much, I wanted so bad to just ... tell her it's okay to cry, and just hold her. But I couldn't ...” 

As the words spilled out of her so did the emotions, and before she knew it the hardened facade of NERV's Chief of Operations had fallen away and left only Misato Katsuragi, the woman who had never really grown up, the would-be mother who couldn't take care of herself let alone two young teenagers that hated each other.

She buried her face on her folded arms, fighting to keep the tears at bay. A fight she was quickly losing. “I can't do anything for Asuka. I can't do anything for Shinji. I never could. I just ask things from them—ask them to risk their lives, ask them to suffer—but I can't do anything to repay their sacrifice. They deserve better ... they deserve better than me.” 

Hyuga stood by silently until she finished, and she was convinced he would be disgusted to have his superior officer break down in such an unsightly fashion. His silence was proof that he didn't approve.

But then he moved closer, placing an arm on top of the car next to her. “Says who, Major?” he told her kindly. “Who could want anything more than someone who cares for them?”

Misato opened her eyes, lifting her head. The world had become blurry as seen through the distortion of her tears. She wiped them away on a red sleeve. “It isn't that simple. Caring for them is easy, it comes naturally, but I should do more than that. I should be able to help them.”

He let the words hang in the air, perhaps hoping she would answer her own question. When it became clear that she couldn't, he moved even closer.

“Major, I wouldn't ever want to presume I know what to do in dealing with the children,” Hyuga started, “or if I did, I would not presume to tell you what to do. But don't you think that, maybe, you being there for them already is a lot of help. You can't force anyone to accept help if they don't want it, but they know it's there if they need it.”

Misato could tell he really meant it, too. It wasn't the sort of artificial kindness people were so prone to giving one another without any real feeling behind it. Strangely, it made her feel at once comforted and saddened: the former because she was assured of his sincerity, the later because whatever she might think of him he would never replace Kaji in her heart.

And she knew, had known for a long time, that he wanted to.

This was why she had spent the last few months focusing on work and, above all, to preserve Kaji's quest for truth—it was much easier to deal with long-buried secrets than personal ones.

“I don't know,” Misato said, forcing herself to regain he composure. "Could we not do this right now, Hyuga? Talking about the Children, I mean."

He seemed puzzled, as if trying to decide between pushing the issue thinking it would do her good or just dropping it completely. Again, his concern for her was painfully obvious. "Sure, Major," the operator said finally. “Anything you wish.”

Misato gave him a nod of gratitude.

“So, um, would you like me to find out more about what the Chinese are up to?” Hyuga said.

“No,” Misato's reply was almost immediate. She couldn't have cared less. “Whatever they are up to doesn't concern us. They have obviously chosen to play around with something they don't understand. It's their funeral.”

She pushed away from the car, the reached down for the door handle. “Let go back before we are missed.”

“Or discovered.” He was already walking around to the other side.

 

In the empty classroom Hikari Horaki's sigh seemed to carry on forever. It wasn't unusual for her to stay after class for clean-up duty, but today she was especially reluctant.

Late last night Hikari had received a call from NERV Major Misato Katsuragi, who asked her to take Asuka in once again. The Major explained that Asuka and Shinji had a fight. She wouldn’t say over what, or what made this particular fight so nasty that they couldn’t live together anymore. Hikari knew the teen pilots were always arguing and fighting like an old married couple—much like she and Toji had, and still did whenever she visited him in the hospital. Fights between them were nothing new. But from the strain on Major Katsuragi's voice, she could tell this was different.

Whatever the reasons, Hikari didn't hesitate. The Major quickly arranged for some of the redhead’s belongings to be taken over.

Things didn't go quite so smoothly after that.

Although Asuka was supposed to meet Hikari at school like any other day, the German girl never showed up. Actually, none of the three children attended. Hikari couldn’t help worrying—it was in her nature. 

But Asuka really had problems. Even if she had managed to pull herself together and lead a somewhat normal life after what had happened to her—and Hikari thought she deserved a lot credit for that, even admiration—she had problems.

Hikari had been there when Asuka finally broke down. Having never experienced the kind of trauma the redhead had endured, she could not really relate to her on the sort of level she would’ve wanted. She could not understand. And as Asuka cried herself to sleep that night many months ago, Hikari had been utterly unable to comfort her. She had felt useless and undeserving. There she was, supposedly caring for someone and yet managed to do nothing in the end. She was the worst sort of friend.

Then Asuka ran away. She had been a shell by then, not eating or going to school or even speaking and just sitting in front of the TV all day. Hikari barely managed to drag her out of bed in the morning, but the idol, the bright and animated girl she had befriended, was already gone. Without her Eva, Asuka had told her, she had no reason to live. No reason to care about anything. The next day Section 2 had come looking for her in school. That was how Hikari found out she was missing. 

That was why she worried so much now.

“Hikari-san?”

“Uh?” Hikari jerked her head, snapping out of her reverie, and turned to the pony-tailed brunette now occupying the desk next to hers. She had been sitting alone in the classroom ever since the rest of the clean-up team had gone to return the cleaning supplies, her hands on her lap holding her flip cellphone.

Keiko Nagara looked serious, her young features drawn, leaning back against the edge of the desk. Her brunette hair was slightly lighter in color than Hikari's and she had no freckles, but they could have been sisters. More than once this had led to confusion among students and even teachers.

“We put everything back,” Keiko said. “Kaz and Aida already left, but I thought you should know.”

“Thank you,” Hikari said, lowering her gaze to the phone in her hands. “You can go now.”

That should have been the end of it, but worry lined Keiko's face. “Is there something wrong?”

“No.”

Keiko inched closer, with all the care and caution of someone who knew she was intruding. 

“Hikari-san, I know it's none of my business, but you've been asking everyone if they've seen Asuka.” Keiko hesitantly held up two fingers. “And, well, you asked me twice so I can tell something's up. Nobody asks me anything unless they are desperate. And you are her best friend, right? She didn't come to school today. If anyone knows what's going on it's you.”

“Why do you even care?” Hikari said and fixed her with a stern gaze. “It's not like she's your friend.”

Keiko shrunk back, and the hurt look that came over her face made Hikari despise herself for what she had just said. She knew Keiko openly admired Asuka, as did many other students—some, particularly the males, for less than honorable reasons—but it always surprised her.

Asuka tolerated the other girls only because she couldn't shun them if she wanted to be the center of attention. She almost didn't have a choice on the matter—idols needed fans to make them idols, after all. In exchange, she was practically worshiped. But tolerance just didn't seem to apply to Keiko Nagara, and she constantly found herself on the outside looking in.

Being the alpha-female of their group, Asuka behaved in a specially vile way towards her, gleefully putting her down in front of the other girls as if that would serve to reinforce her own status. The others, of course, were keen to follow her example. Yet Keiko, who always wore her hair in a long ponytail, simply ignored the fact that she was clearly not wanted and continued to try nudging into Asuka's circle.

It was, Hikari had to be honest, a little sad.

“I'm sorry,” Keiko murmured, her head hanging low. “I won't bother you anymore.”

But as the other girl turned to leave, Hikari got to her feet. “Keiko, wait,” she hurried to say and her words brought Keiko to a halt. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just … You are right, I'm worried about Asuka.”

“It's okay,” Keiko said strangely lightheartedly. It was a front—Hikari had enough experience to tell. “I'm sure Asuka's got a good reason to cut class. She is an Eva pilot, you know.”

There was no way Hikari could miss the awe in the other girl's voice.

“Yeah, I know,” she said after a moment. “This isn't about that. She was supposed to move in with me today.”

“Really?” Keiko's brown eyes opened so wide it made Hikari uncomfortable.

Noting to herself that she had probably already said more than Asuka would like her to, Hikari just nodded.

“Well then, you need to get going!”

Hikari frowned. It wasn't like Keiko had to impress her with her concern. Asuka was the one to impress. The truth was that even though she hung out with the popular redhead and could be said to be her only genuine friend, Hikari cared about Asuka as a person regardless of how popular or unpopular she was. She was not shallow enough to make determinations about someone based on such things. Keiko Nagara was. 

“I can't,” Hikari said. “I was supposed to meet her in school. What if I leave and she comes in?”

“I think if she was going to, she would be here already,” Keiko countered. She pressed her lips in thought. “Listen, I've got an idea. You can go. I'll stay, and if I see Asuka I'll send her to your place.”

“You'll get into trouble—the administration doesn't like students hanging around after class.”

Keiko brushed her off. “I'll just explain what's going on. The teachers like me anyway. One of the advantages of always being picked on.”

Suddenly Hikari thought she understood—Keiko offering to help her had less to do with the fact that she thought Hikari should go find Asuka and more to do with her being Asuka's best friend. No doubt she hoped the redhead would hear about her helpfulness from the mouth of someone whom she trusted and liked enough to move in with.

The Class Rep. came to within a heartbeat of telling her she would do no such thing when her growing concern for Asuka won out.

“Okay.”

Keiko gave her a smile, making Hikari feel guilty for taking advantage of her willingness to befriend Asuka at any cost. Maybe she should put in a few good words on her behalf—no, she definitely would.

“Thank you,” Hikari said, and found that she meant it.

Leaving Keiko to wait in the classroom, Hikari headed down the hall to retrieve her book bag. She changed shoes, taking off her rubber-soled indoor slippers and putting them in the locker, and passed through the front gate. 

She glanced at her cell phone and quickly checked for messages just in case. Her mailbox was empty. 

The narrow sidewalk leading away from the school bustled with students. Hikari carefully avoided running into people as she walked in front of the small arcade located on the corner. The place was popular with most students, providing a welcome break after a day full of schoolwork. She had never been big on video games herself—the only reason she even bought a console was for dating sims—but Asuka and her had hung out there a few times, sometimes along with Shinji and Kensuke.

Even if she didn't like video games, such playful moments where few and far between and she thoroughly enjoyed them. Toji was the only one missing; Hikari always wished he could be there with them. He loved video games. 

Wanting something to remind her of him, she peered wistfully through the front window. She immediately recognized the figure leaning over one of the flashy, loud machines—her golden-red hair and pointy scarlet hair clips gave her away.

Asuka was wearing her uniform, too, meaning she had indeed left for school that morning as Misato said she would.

Hikari sighed, her heart feeling like it had plunged down to her feet, and made her way into the arcade. There were only a few students inside, and most were giving Asuka, who was playing some kind of Eva-inspired shooting game called 'Angel Takedown', a wide berth.

"Asuka?" Hikari called out to her distracted friend as she approached, thinking it was better not to startle someone as volatile as the redhead.

Asuka turned her head at the sound of Hikari's voice. Her eyes were dull, so much so that they seemed a completely different shade of blue. They were the eyes, Hikari recognized, of someone who had been through a deeply personal tragedy. She could hardly believe this was the same cheerful, outgoing girl she had always known. And yet it was not the first time she saw Asuka like this

But how could a mere fight with Shinji Ikari have done this to her?

"Uh...hi, Hikari." Asuka forced herself to smile.

"Hi." Checking the arcade screen, Hikari noticed the initials ALS held all of the Top Ten records—all timestamped within the last few hours. "Did … did you go to school at all?” She tried to sound casual. “I’ve been really worried. Misato told me that..."

"School didn't seem important," Asuka said flatly. She returned her attention to the game, moving the controls with short, practiced movements.

"I thought something happened to you."

Asuka did not reply to that.

Hikari swallowed awkwardly, uncertain of how far she should allow her curiosity to push the issue. She waited until Asuka finished the level before trying again, "I know something bad happened. Misato told me that you and Shinji … had problems."

Her friend stared at the next loading screen, ignoring her. Hikari found more meaning in the heavy silence that followed than on any words Asuka might utter. The German redhead might be many things, but coy wasn’t one of them. And she didn’t usually avoid a subject as deliberately as she was doing now—she’d try to deflect attention, to deny that something was bothering her and haughtily pretend she was fine.

This time there was no such pretense. 

She wasn't going to get to Asuka like this, Hikari realized. She might be her closest friend but that didn't mean she understood her or what she was going through, never had and probably never would. She had to find another way.

"You know I've been really wanting to talk to you for a long time. About what happened before with the Eva in the city. But it’s not really important now, I guess. Ever since you came out of the hospital I’ve just been glad to have you around.” Hikari paused and smiled amicably. “And I'm glad we are going to be roommates again.” She reached out a hand intuitively in a gesture of support.

Asuka quickly pulled her hand away.

"I told Misato not to bother you with this.”

She turned her head, no longer focusing on the flashing screen but on the window beyond. Hikari could not see her eyes or her expression, only her stiff body language. The young Class Rep. was not at all discouraged by this behavior.

Any of the girls who merely hung around Asuka for her looks and status would have given up right then and there, thinking her a lost case and not worth the trouble. But Hikari was not one of them; where other girls might envy Asuka for her popularity she had long ago gotten used to playing second fiddle to her friend, the school idol; she didn’t mind that when they were together there was hardly a glance spared in her direction instead of the exotic, sharp-featured, sapphire-eyed redhead.

There was just no sense in denying that Asuka was simply prettier all-around, and that Hikari, with freckles and her hair in two pig-tails, was no comparison.

In fact, the only reason the popular Eva pilot had been drawn to socialize with the Class Rep. in the first place was because of her position as an authority figure. Asuka held extremely high standards for people, matching the almost impossible standard she set for herself—probably why she refused to accept someone as mundane as Keiko Nagara. If people didn't measure up then they were not good enough for her. That was just Asuka. 

As elitist as that attitude might be outwardly, Hikari had never thought it was her place to judge her based solely on it. Because, like a frozen, unforgiving iceberg, there was a lot more to Asuka beneath the surface. Like their relationship, for example.

Hikari knew she meant more to Asuka, even if she would never admit it, and that Asuka meant more to her. It was no longer a matter of status or standards; there was true fondness between them, tolerance, and understanding. A real friendship.

Though probably unnecessary, Hikari thought Asuka should hear that.

"You know, Asuka,” she gently placed her hand on Asuka’s shoulder, “I am your friend, for better or worse. You are … you are like one of my sisters. You are family. And family members are supposed to look after one another. I understand if maybe you feel embarrassed, but there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I will always look up to you. I’ll always want to help you.”

“I’m not your sister.” Asuka shrugged her off. “I don’t have any family. I don’t need family.” 

“Do it for me then,” Hikari said, trying to ignore the bitter note in the other girl's voice. “I told you Kodama moved out, right? I need someone to talk to, you know, about girl stuff. I need someone to tell me if my outfit matches my shoes. I need someone to tell me how I could do better than being just a boring class representative. Someone I can trust.”

“You mean you need someone to tell you what to do,” Asuka said snidely. “That's a big sister.”

“Well, if you think so. But I think it's more like a best friend.”

Semantics, really. Asuka had always been far too egotistic to bother with such distinctions—she knew she was better than anyone. Whether Hikari thought of her as a sister or her best friend didn't matter to her. But rather than argue, the redhead lowered her head slightly.

"I'll just be a burden."

Hikari's heart sank even further. 

"You have never been a burden, Asuka.” Hikari waved off the objection despite herself. “I’d be honored to have you. And Pen-pen will be happy to see you, too. I can tell he misses you."

It was a syrupy thing to say, almost cliché in its simplicity, but it was sincere.

Asuka lowered her guard and let a little hint of appreciation enter her features. She took a long time to think about what was really being offered. Hikari didn’t try to pretend sneaking some sympathy below the redhead’s radar, but she did hope to make her realize that it was okay to accept some comfort when she needed it.

Hikari reached again for her friend’s shoulder to make her point. When Asuka didn’t object this time, the pigtailed girl knew she had succeeded. “Lets go,” she said. “Some of your things are probably already waiting for you.”

She got a nod and a half-smile in return. Given what she had seen so far, Hikari thought it was a step in the right direction.

The two schoolgirls walked outside together and made their way to the train station amidst the crowd, which was now thinner than before. Hikari was careful not to look terribly concerned, though she could not help casting appraising glance at Asuka as they walked, quickly looking away when she thought the other girl might see her.

They found a pair of seats, but as Asuka sat down Hikari excused herself and stepped back onto the aisle. She fetched her cellphone and placed a quick call to Keiko to let her know she had found Asuka and, once again, to thank her for her helpfulness. This she did quietly, hoping the noise of the train would mask her words from the proud and arrogant redhead. 

Hikari returned to Asuka's side after hanging up and finally took a seat to her right. “Just some last minute class business,” she explained. 

Asuka would have normally been rightly annoyed by such behavior. Now she just stared out the window in brooding, uncharacteristic, utterly miserable silence.

As Hikari opened her book bag in search for something to distract her from the sudden awkwardness she realized that was what upset her the most—Asuka's silence. And she wondered again what Shinji Ikari could have done to hurt her so badly.

 

***  
***

 

“A-Ayanami?” Shinji hesitated as he caught sight of Rei Ayanami sitting on a wheelchair in the middle of the hallway that led to her hospital room, wearing only a white gown and a tired expression.

Rei was talking with Doctor Akagi—rather, Doctor Akagi was talking down to her. Shinji could not help being surprised. He wanted to see Rei in private and had not considered there might be someone else with her, which was stupid in hindsight. He had even brought flowers, a fact he now found himself feeling very embarrassed about.

He didn't even know why he'd brought them. He just thought they might help Rei feel better. 

"What is it, Shinji?" Ritsuko said. As usual, her voice was cold, her expression clinical as she looked him over.

Rei remained silent besides her, as if she hadn't noticed him at all. 

“Um, I ... I wanted to see how Rei was doing and ... ” Shinji stuttered, his cheeks warming up to a deep crimson blush. Overcome by his self-consciousness, he didn't dare move a muscle and stood there firmly glued to the spot.

“And you brought her flowers, how charming,” Ritsuko said in a sharp tone that sounded slightly amused. She then turned to Rei, and Shinji noticed the much smaller girl had her head bowed and was looking at the floor. “Don’t you think so, Rei?”

“Yes,” Rei answered obediently.

Being passive was part of her nature, but her manner seemed different now. Not passive as much as it was completely submissive. Blue hair disheveled, red eyes down, she looked like someone who'd just been picked up from an orphan shelter. Someone without power, without desire, without anything to call her own—even the hospital gown fit her poorly, as if the act of clothing her had merely been an afterthought. 

Ritsuko patted Rei on her head, a gesture that coming from anyone else might have been affectionate. But coming from Ritsuko Akagi it carried all the detached satisfaction of petting an obedient dog after performing a successful trick.

Rei did not lift her head or look at her, her face remaining neutral. Like everything else, if she was bothered at being condescended upon she didn’t show it. 

Shinji swallowed awkwardly, wanting to say something but not knowing what.

“I suppose you want to talk to her alone, right?” Ritsuko said, turning again to Shinji, putting her hands in her pockets in a familiar manner, and walking towards Shinji. “Just don’t take too long. Rei, don’t forget what I told you.”

She said this last part as she moved past the Third Child, without so much as looking back at Rei. Shinji half expected her to whistle and for Rei to follow at her heels.

Shinji waited for Ritsuko to disappear around the corner before cautiously approaching the blue-haired girl. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about looking her in the eyes as hers were still firmly focused on her tiled floor. “Um …” 

He offered her the flowers, red roses because it was apparently the only kind easily available in Tokyo-3.

Rei lifted her gaze, but a questioning expression came over her soft features—barely an expression, really, apparently wondering why he was giving them to her without an obvious reason. “Flowers?” 

“I-I just thought that...well, the hospital can be very depressing so..." Shinji began hesitantly, struggling to get the right words, “I thought these might cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Rei repeated with a clear hint of puzzlement.

No one had ever given her flowers before, Shinji felt certain of that. And he was sure she probably had no idea what was she supposed to do with them. She took them regardless, not saying a word to him, and raised them to her face as if to examine them.

“They are red,” Shinji continued, feeling stupid for pointing out something so obvious as the color of red roses. “I thought they would look nice...and they match your eyes.”

“I do not like red.”

Shinji's heart suddenly skipped. Had he made a mistake? He didn't really know what Rei would like, what she considered to be pretty or acceptable. Unlike other girls her age he never heard her talk about such things, and never thought to ask.

An awkward silence settled over the hallway, until finally …

"S-sorry, I...didn't know...”

"But they look nice," Rei replied, looking down at the flowers with a careworn expression. "What do I do with them?"

Shinji raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you put them in water or they'll die," he said. “Or they'll die.”

“I see.”

"Uh...Rei?" he started timidly, remembering what Misato had said and what she’d suggested he do. He didn’t really think he had a choice. The memory of what he’d told Asuka was too painful, too overwhelming. Keeping it to himself was more than he thought he could endure.

"Yes?"

"I need to...talk to you about something important. You are the only one I can talk to. You are the only one I know will listen to me.” He looked nervously down the hallway. “So could I..."

Rei didn't answer right away, which made Shinji wonder if he was intruding on her. He thought she might not have been listening to him, since she was staring at the roses, but the odd sense of detachment was nothing new. No, if she didn’t say anything it was because she didn’t want to.

“I-I'm sorry..." Shinji apologized, all he could think of doing. "I didn't mean to impose on you. I'll leave you alone."

Shinji turned to leave, but Rei called to him.

"Ikari," Rei whispered, "you can come in if you want. My room is the second door on the left."

Shinji had spent enough in NERV’s medical ward that he already knew much of the layout. The nurses knew him on sight, though he’d never learned their names. It was, like most hospitals, a somewhat depressing place despite its benign function. The bright lights and polished tile floors belied the pain that these very walls were built to treat.

He wheeled Rei down the hallway, following her directions until they reached a room with the name Ayanami R. written on a chart hanging on the door. The room looked depressing, almost entirely bare except for the bed and a few small pieces of furniture. Unlike the large room Asuka had been kept in during her coma, Rei’s was much smaller and closer to what might have been deemed ordinary with none of the complex life support equipment.

Asuka had required more constant attention in her condition than Rei now did. She had been completely dependent on those around her. Helpless.

Shinji felt a new pang of guilt. He hadn’t thought about that for the longest time—about what he had nearly done when the unconscious redhead had laid sprawled, half naked in front of him. He hoped the nurse on duty that day, who certainly must have found Asuka on the bed after he left, had never told her. But it wasn’t because he feared her anger. Asuka simply didn’t deserve the humiliation such an episode would cause her.

Rei Ayanami, ironically, probably wouldn’t have cared.

Closing the door behind them, Shinji pushed the wheelchair-bound girl to the foot of her bed. He carefully placed her left arm around his shoulders to help her up and onto the bed. She was surprisingly light, her skin cold against his.

"Would you like me to put those in water?" he asked her, gesturing towards the flowers she still cradled on her lap.

"I do not have anything to put water in," Rei replied.

Shinji looked around, spotting used plastic dinnerware placed on a tray by her bedside. “A big glass will do, I guess.”

He picked up the plastic glass, walked over to the small bathroom, and gave it a rinse under the sink faucet. He then filled it with water and returned to Rei’s side, holding out the glass for her to put the flowers in it. She did, and he placed them down on her nightstand. He found a chair nearby and pulled it close.

"So, uh, Rei … I need to talk to you," Shinji said as he sat there uncertain about what to do with himself. 

"Go ahead," Rei said, but did not turn to face him. She was staring at the roses in a strangely disconnected manner.

However, Shinji knew she was listening. He struggled to find the words that would properly and coherently explain all the things he was feeling. It took him a while, but he did at last. 

“I...I had a fight...with Asuka,” he began, focusing on Rei's form. He felt exposed even though she was the one who was nearly naked. His insides felt raw, vulnerable. “And I said things that I shouldn't have...and she...cried.”

Rei said nothing, but her red eyes shifted slightly, and her head barely tilted.

"I-I feel horrible. It's not like when we fought before. It’s not like when she calls me stupid. Now it's...painful. She shouldn’t have said the things she said to you—there’s no excuse for saying that even if it’s to someone you don’t like. I … said them right back at her. I told her I hated her. I told her …” a whimper escaped his lips. “I told her I wanted her to die. And she cried. I made her cry.”

Rei still said nothing, and even though Shinji knew it wasn’t real he thought he saw in her otherwise neutral eyes a reflection of his own guilt. And for a fleeting second, the red became sapphire blue in his mind’s eye and he saw Asuka staring back at him, tears streaming down her pretty face. 

That image alone was like a punch to the stomach, because in that very moment Shinji had wounded her more severely than Angels or Evas ever had. Asuka had suffered a lot in her life, having fallen from grace as a child prodigy with the world at her feet to a devastated and bitter teenager. But despite her anger and her haughtiness and her prickly character and everything else that might have influenced her to become the girl she was, Shinji had never seen that look before.

Because that look, that single moment of painful sorrow, encapsulated all that was wrong in their relationship. All the things he had always felt but never said. 

“I shouldn't have… ” Shinji barely managed, feeling stinging tears rolling down his own cheeks, “But she... she can be so mean. She had no right to say those things to you … but I had no right to say them to her.” He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, weeping. “I had no right … please, forgive me.” 

“Forgiveness is not mine to give,” Rei said.

Those words, like a drink of cool water on a hot day, had soothing quality that reached beyond the words themselves and touched something else.

Shinji looked up, slightly dumfounded. “Uh?”

Rei was staring at him now, her gaze easy and non-judgmental. “You can ask me for forgiveness, but I have no reason to forgive you. You have done nothing to me that would require it. If you feel it is the Second who should forgive you, then you should go to her and ask her to do so instead.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head, sniffling and wiping away tears with his hands. “I can’t go to her. She hates me. She—”

"She is who she is," the albino replied. “And she does not have to forgive you. It is not an obligation.”

“But …” Shinji simpered, “what’s the point in apologizing to someone if they will just hate you for it?”

“Will it make you feel better?” 

After that Shinji fell silent, uncertain about the answer and its implication. It would make him feel better, but that was just his selfishness. It wouldn’t help Asuka, and it wouldn’t make her feel better. And so he would only fuel her hatred of him, gaining nothing else. 

“People make themselves what they want to be, not what others wish them to be,” Rei said. “I can only be me, and no one else. You accept me for being me, so you should accept her for being her.”

Shinji didn’t understand how that could help. He’d tried to accept Asuka, finally resigning himself to letting her be alone, because he was sure that was what she wanted of him. He'd tried to accept that even though he didn’t like her attitude or her abrasive personally as a whole, those were qualities that made the Second Child the girl she was. All she had to do was be a little nicer to him, a little more thoughtful, and he would have gladly repaid her kindness several times over.

But Asuka would do none of those things. Because she hated him. And after what he’d said, maybe she did indeed have a right to. 

The silence lasted several minutes in which Shinji tried to compose himself.

“Is that all?” Rei finally said.

Her voice was soft as always, but Shinji was suddenly taken aback by her bluntness. “Y-yes...”

“Then I think you should go.” She lay back on her pillow and stared at the ceiling, not caring to cover herself with the thin bed sheets. There was no indication of antagonism coming from her, nor was there any sense that he was bothering her. And yet …

“Rei, are you...angry with me?” he couldn’t help asking. In his present state he didn’t think he could take someone else rejecting him.

“No, why should I be?” Rei answered calmly. “The doctor told me to rest for the next activation test.”

“Activation?” Shinji stared at her in disbelief. “So soon?”

“You will not make a scene, will you?”

Shinji wasn't stupid, no matter what Asuka liked to say, and so he'd never believed the tests would be stopped for something as seemingly unimportant as Rei getting hurt. But what purpose could they achieve by putting her back in the Eva when she was still bedridden?

NERV—his Father couldn't possibly think she was so disposable. She was a pilot, but also a teenager, someone like him, someone like Asuka, and her life had value too. But any outrage was futile, and he was already too emotionally exhausted. There was nothing he could do about it now. He couldn't protect her; couldn't speak for her; couldn't apologize. He was useless to her, same as with everyone else.

The waves of heavy feelings pushed down on him, making him sink on the chair, shoulders slumped, head down.

“I have to pilot Eva,” Rei said, turning her head and looking blankly into space. “There is nothing else I can do. It is the reason I exist.”

 

Wearing her pink cotton pajamas in the middle of the day was as embarrassing as it was liberating. Hikari could not remember the last time she’d been home this late aside from weekends and sick days, and even then she didn’t tend to linger in her PJs through the morning. She’d awoken early as usual, but between seeing Nozomi off to school and waiting for Asuka to get out of bed had ended up parked in front of the TV in the living room, another thing she didn’t usually do.

Asuka was a guest, and so Hikari didn’t mind accommodating her. But it was pushing noon now, and there was still no sign of the noisy redhead coming down the stairs to have breakfast. Or lunch.

Hikari sighed, laid down the remote control on the couch next to her, and got up. She slipped her feet into her pink slippers and headed up the stairs. Since Kodama had left there was a spare bedroom next to Hikari’s. And since she knew Asuka valued her privacy as much as anyone she’d ever met, she had taken a room to herself.

In was in her upbringing, Hikari thought tolerantly. Western cultures did not believe in sharing one’s personal space with others. Asuka, raised in Germany for most her childhood, fit that particular mold perfectly. 

Hikari knocked on the door. There was no response, nor had she expected any to be forthcoming; Asuka, though she didn’t say it, wanted to be left alone. It was that, more than the possibility that she might have overslept, that prompted Hikari to check on her. As the door had no lock, knocking to let her know she was coming in was just courtesy.

“Time to get up,” she said. “It’s nearly noon, you know.”

Hikari slid the door open, stepped inside, then softly closed the door behind her. The room was mostly as Kodama had left it—she couldn’t take many of her things with her to Kyoto. City apartments were minuscule things. The thing that had always struck Hikari about her sister’s room was the cleanliness, even by her own standards. Everything had its place, everything seemed to match every other thing. Even now, the only things that stood out were a backpack thrown hastily at the foot of a dresser, and a white and blue school uniform draped over the back of a chair.

In the few days Asuka had been here she hadn’t bothered putting anything away, simply discarding things as she used them and generally making a mess. Hikari cleaned up after her; it was okay, she didn’t mind.

“Kodama would be outraged,” Hikari thought in slight amusement. She took a knee and picked up the backpack, setting it carefully in the chair. The content was mostly clothing and underwear, and a few toiletries. Asuka’s Section 2 bodyguards had brought over another suitcase but she hadn’t gone near it yet. Finally, Hikari turned her attention to the bed. 

Asuka lay curled under the sheets, her slender form covered but unmistakable, her pale feet and a sheet of flaring locks from her golden-red mane visible at either end. Even as she stood over her, Hikari could hear the animated rhythm of the music she was listening to blaring through her headphones, the volume turned up as high as it would go. Pen-Pen was lying on his stomach next to the bed, his small beady eyes closed.

Hikari sighed again and sat beside her friend on the bed, careful not to step on the dozing penguin. She reached underneath the sheets, finding the little digital music player and switching it off with a thumb. Asuka did not stir. Hikari turned her head away, keeping her eyes on the room rather than on the covered girl.

“I know you can hear me, Asuka,” she said. “It’s time to get up.”

“What for?” Asuka’s voice was raspy but still low, not the usual shrill tone. Odd.

“Well, it’s a sunny day,” Hikari said, “and since neither one of us is going to school I thought maybe you’d want to do something fun. No point in missing school again if we are just going to be inside all day.”

“I didn’t ask you to stay.”

“How could I go anywhere?” Hikari said. “After what I said.”

“If you want to be mad at me then go ahead, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything.”

She sounded like she meant it, too, which worried Hikari. Asuka was not suicidal by any stretch, but she did have a self-destructive streak. She’d run away once before, and while the circumstances of how she was eventually taken back into custody were not known to Hikari, she was smart enough to relate the onset of her depression with her lengthy hospitalization.

She had heard some rumors, the sort that seemed to come out of thin air: the Second Child had been found sitting in a bathtub full of filthy water, naked and starved as though she had simply stopped caring about herself. Such a scene was something worse than Hikari could imagine. It couldn’t be true; no matter how bad things got, the Asuka she knew would never sink that low. 

But then again, she didn’t really know anything about Asuka, did she?

“You know,” Hikari started, making an effort to get her talking, “I never asked you this, but what was it like? When you came to Japan, I mean. Is it what you thought it’d be like? Is it very different from Germany? Do you miss your friends?”

“Friends?” Asuka hesitated. “I was fourteen when I graduated college. I didn’t have any friends. I was the youngest girl in every class I ever took. The boys would look at me, but not one of them ever approached me. I was taboo for them. Fine, men are pigs anyway. My teachers despised me because I was smarter than they were. I had all the answers. I made them look bad. After I moved into the dorm I never went back home, but that was fine too. When I was little my stepmother only ever looked after me to be close to my father. It was all a charade. My whole life’s been like that.”

As she rambled, the tone of her voice changed erratically, as though it was difficult for her to control it. Hikari noticed her stirring under the sheets, moving her hands up to where her face would be. The sheets were thin, and she thought Asuka might be further covering her face out of shame.

“Come on, Asuka. Everything can’t be so bad,” Hikari said, fighting the urge to actually reach out and comfort her—Asuka didn't like to be touched in any manner that would indicate weakness. “You have to believe that things will work out. You'll go back to pilot your Eva. Maybe have a talk with Shinji.”

“It’s ... okay,” Asuka muttered. “I’m used to it. I deserve it.”

“No, Asuka…”

“That day … that day I got in the Eva, the Angel showed me what I was like. It made me realize … that I deserved it.” Asuka curled up tighter, drawing the sheets along as she tucked in her knees and her arms.

“Nobody deserves to be hurt like that.” Oddly enough, Hikari thought of Toji, and all the pain and hurt that had brought along. But despite that, the times she went to see him during weekends were the happiest she could remember. So pain did not exist in a vacuum, and it could eventually lead to happiness.

Hikari had managed that strictly on her own, through no fault of Asuka's or her sisters. And she was sure that with her help the haughty redhead could do the same.

“It’s stupid, really,” Asuka continued. “It showed me … I should’ve known when I kissed him. I knew what I wanted, and that he wouldn’t give it to me. But I didn’t know why. I pretended like I didn’t care—it was such a stupid thing to cry over.” Her voice quivered, and Hikari heard her sniffle. “I can’t pretend anymore, Hikari. I don’t want to.”

“So don’t,” Hikari said, looking down at her intently for the first time. “The first step in being honest with others is being honest with yourself. Sounds to me like you’ve already managed that.”

“No.” Asuka shook her head on her pillow. “It’s too late.”

Hikari could not ignore the signs any longer. She had to do something. Carefully, she reached down and picked up the edge of Asuka’s sheet, and pulled it back just enough to see her face. But what she saw made her gasp. The crystal blue orbs were surrounded by bloodshot white, her high cheeks were streaked, and the pillow was stained where it had absorbed her tears. Her face was set, that determined expression of someone trying to retain their composure. “How long have you been …”

“That’s none of you business,” Asuka snatched the sheet from her hand and tossed it over her head again. “Leave me alone.”

But Hikari didn’t move. She sat there quietly, and no longer cared that she was still wearing her pink pajamas in the middle of the day. 

 

Time had no value for Rei Ayanami. Other people lived their entire lives by it, and so Rei was forced to accept that it existed because it helped in her interpersonal relations with others to have a point of reference. Thus, Rei did not have time; she had schedules. Her life was measured by cycles—eat, sleep, go to school, do what you are told. It was simple and liberating. All she had to do was follow and obey.

She had been doing that as long as she could remember. She had been doing it without thinking. Only recently had she begun to understand what it meant. She obeyed his will because she was his doll. He created her. He was her master. She would die if he asked her to.

The Second had said so, and despite the girl’s harsh manner, Rei had enough self-awareness to realize that she was right. Rei knew what not being liked was like from her experiences with Doctor Akagi, and there was no doubt the Second Child disliked her. But that did not reduce the truth of her words. And although the truth bothered her, she also realized there was nothing she could do. Rei envied the Second; she had the determination, the agency, the very human desire to make herself into more.

Rei had none of those things.

As she pressed the button on her plug-suit's wrist, she could not get that thought out of her mind. She would die—she did die. But not for him. The images of her death were vivid. She saw them as if it had been herself who died, even though she had not even been born. Ayanami had died, not Rei… not her.

Why was she doing it again? Why then, when the only outcome was pain, was she allowing herself to be placed in this situation again?

The plug-suit's mechanism hissed as it vented the air out and tightened around Rei's body with an iron grip. She winced, the touch feeling like a hundred vices clamping down on her. It was a reminder that while she may have been scheduled for a second activation test, she still wasn’t physically recovered from the first one.

Rei couldn’t know how many days had passed. Most of her time was spent sleeping or medicated to combat the aching tenderness in her whole body. She hurt—her muscles, her chest, her joints, her head. It was as though she’d taken a beating. Despite the rest, she was weak and slightly disoriented, and felt a hint of the squirming emotion that she’d come to define as apprehension. Normally, she’d be able to simply put it out of her mind. She wasn’t supposed to feel frightened. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

Now, however, the doubts lingered. 

Why was she doing it again?

Because she was his doll—the only answer that really mattered. He created her to do his will. If she didn’t, then she had no purpose. Her life would be meaningless. She would do it because it was all that she had. It wasn’t an issue of choice. A choice entailed the use of free will. There was no such thing in Rei’s life.

"Rei?" The voice startled her for a second, before she recognized the man it belonged to.

Rei turned her head to look at him, lowering her eyes instinctively. "Yes, Commander Ikari?"

Ikari was standing by the locker room bench, arms in his pockets, his stony gaze looking her over. Something heavy pressed down on Rei’s sore chest, taking away most of her breath, and making her incredibly aware that the world suddenly was no longer fixed. She did not close her eyes to wait for the sickness to pass. She stood her ground and willed herself to remain still. 

"Are you ready, Rei?" he asked, his words dull and so emotionless it made her wonder if she too could sound like that.

"Yes, sir." Rei remembered how she—how Rei Ayanami—felt when around Commander Ikari. She liked him, thought of him as a father. She knew he would protect her, never hurt her. But that had been someone who had actually grown up with him, and in whom he had an interest. This girl, this Rei Ayanami, did not share that bond.

She was a realist, a term she’d heard used by their teacher at school and then looked up to learn its meaning. She understood the difference between who she had been and who she was. Understood that she could not take the place of the girl who had been lost. She wasn’t Rei Ayanami, just a replacement with the name and soul of someone else. 

The human mind was a blank page at birth, an empty construct to be filled with the hubris of growth and experience in a changing world. Sin and virtue—love and hate—were things to be learned, understood by interaction. But Rei had merely inherited them. Her mind was a book that had already been written. The world was not hers to experience. 

"Dr. Akagi has modified Unit-00’s test parameters. She is confident it will work this time," he said.

"Yes, sir. I'm sure it will." Rei said. Her words too were empty, merely an echo of the meaninglessness she felt within.

Then she heard footsteps. Commander Ikari came to stand in front of her, but she could only bow her head and stare at his shoes. He reached out a gloved hand, tucking it underneath her delicate chin in a strangely fatherly gesture, and lifted her head. 

Rei stared into his eyes, red meeting black.

"I know this is hard on you, but you must understand what's at stake," Ikari said. Because he was so much taller than her, he had to look down to make eye contact, and yet there was no condescension in the way he addressed her. “This is not the way it was supposed to be. It is not the way we had meant it.”

“I do not understand, sir. But I do not care to understand. I only expect to do what I must.”

Gendo Ikari nodded. “And what is it that you must do?”

“Pilot Eva,” she answered mechanically.

"Why?" He almost seemed surprised, though there was really no such thing as surprise in a man like him.

"That's what you gave me life for. That's what you require of me, is it not?"

“Yes, indeed it is,” Ikari said. “But I will also require one more thing. If the time should come when I find myself in the position of having to risk your life, you should know that there is something more important you must do. You must survive. No matter how painful. Before, when the Dummy System was fully operational, you would have been considered disposable. But that time has passed. You are the last. And if you are to fulfill your purpose, you must survive.”

She would die if he asked her to.

Rei saw the words appear vividly in her mind. She knew they were true. She looked at the man —no, the monster that stood before her and fought the urge to wrap her fingers around his throat. She could kill him. She could activate her Eva and destroy him, his world, his hopes. But then her purpose would be gone. By killing Gendo Ikari she would also be killing herself.

"Rei," Ikari demanded. "Do you promise?"

Rei was taken aback but gave the expected answer regardless. "Yes, sir."

“Good.” He moved his hand, taking with it Rei’s last human contact. He did not bid her farewell or good luck or anything else; he just walked off, walking silent and slowly with the strong, reassured stride of someone in total control.

Rei took a step to follow him. That was as far as got.

It was as though a button had been pressed and her balance disappeared. She stumbled, trying to brace against the nearby wall of metal lockers, her head spinning. She fell ungracefully, collapsing in a heap of white and blue. She lay there for a moment, gasping for air through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to vomit.

And then she began pulling herself up, whimpering from the effort. She forced her body to stand, leaning heavily against the front of the nearest locker and finding handholds where she could, the grip pads on the palms of her gloves providing some traction. Her body protested. The fall had now added a distinct throbbing quality to an already flaring headache. 

When she was reasonably certain that she would not be hitting the floor again, Rei took a step. Her balance was unsteady but workable. She was careful to walk slowly, and not to stumble—she could not afford to. There would be no getting up again.

 

"Second and third set connections have been cleared,” Aoba called out from his station, drawing the attention of the two women standing at the observation window. “Approaching borderline."

“What’s Rei’s status?” Maya asked worriedly. She had been carefully studying Unit-00 through the thick armored glass, as if somehow close visual inspection would allow her any problems better than the MAGI computers. It was a preposterous idea, but it made her feel better. Beside her, Ritsuko Akagi remained unconcerned.

“Pilot condition is green,” Haruna confirmed. “Heart rate and breathing have quickened, beta waves are elevated. Everything is still within parameters, though. No anomalies on the A-10 pattern.”

“Now we find out if we must pay for our sins in blood,” Ritsuko said, looking at Maya. The young lieutenant bit down on her lip. “Relax, Maya. It’ll be fine.”

“It makes me nervous when you talk like that, like you are waiting for the end of the world.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t believe humans have the ability to end the world anymore than to make miracles happen, or have others fall in love with us.”

"1.4 to borderline clearance," came the word from Aoba.

Beyond the glass Unit-00 remained still, the sparking blue finish of its round head and new armor reflecting the lights that ran along the ceiling of the cage, a single red eye staring fixedly into space, unmoving and unblinking.

None of the Evangelions had been designed or built with their intended pilots in mind—they were tweaked in order to maximize their performance with a particular child in the same way other war machines can be altered to achieve greater destructive power. But since it was impossible to determine who could become an Eva pilot at birth, the individual units could not be built to suit any one person. Cores could be swapped out based on certain criteria Maya herself did not fully understand, but she assumed were based on a pilot's particular needs; software could be written and changed, which was what they'd been unsuccessfully attempting.

But the Evas ... somehow they always seemed to reflect a part of their pilot's personality. Somehow it was as though a particular pilot was meant to be matched up with a specific Eva unit. Previous cross-synchronization experiments had shown the links formed between the pilot and the Eva were not unlike those between children and their mothers, although completely artificial, and just as hard to break or replace.

"1.0"

That was why each Child could only pilot his or her Eva. And in time, at some primordial psychological level, the characteristics of the living were passed onto the non-living technology. Unit-00 was no different; it shared Rei's aura of mystery and, it turned out, a level of quiet unpredictability. 

"Borderline cleared!" Haruna announced, standing from her console, obviously excited. "Final connections enabled. Pilot's brainwaves are normal, pulse normal. Evangelion Unit-00 has been activated!"

There was a general sigh of relief as those words echoed through the control room. Someone cheered; Aoba, Maya guessed. She looked over at Ritsuko. The older woman in turn looked at her with something akin to pride. "You really don't give yourself enough credit, Maya. You can't succeed if you are always ready to fail."

Maya blushed and nodded. But before she could offer her gratitude at being compliment by someone she admired in the way she did Ritsuko, the blond Doctor had already turned to the bank of technicians behind the two of them. “Open a channel to the pilot.”

Hyuga nodded and did as he was told.

"Channel's open, Ma'am."

Ritsuko stepped from the window and moved towards one of the terminals, making the young technician sitting there tense noticeably. "Rei, can you hear me?"

“Yes.” Rei’s voice was weak, little more than a whisper carried over the speakers as if she were standing right there with them.

“We are done with the activation now.” Ritsuko said. She cast a look in Maya’s direction. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine.”

“That's good to hear,” Ritsuko said, although there was no telling about her sincerity as she sounded as cold as Maya had ever heard her. “Do you think you can handle the mobility test?”

That was a rhetorical question, and everyone present—certainly everyone who’d ever spent time around Rei Ayanami—knew it. Maya would never accuse Rei of being a liar in that self-interest was required in order for something to be lie and she had no such thing. She was as selfless as they came, to the detriment of her own health. 

“Yes.” Rei said without hesitation.

Maya was ready to protest but held back at the last second, remembering she wasn’t on solid enough ground to object to anything Ritsuko, and the Commander by proxy, wanted to do. 

Something of her reluctance showed on her face, however, and Ritsuko was quick to give her a disapproving glare. The short-haired girl felt as though she was back in college, being reprimanded by a teacher for a sub-par term paper she had obviously thought was good enough to make the grade.

Belatedly Maya realized that her relationship with Ritsuko was just that. She was the younger student who failed to make her instructor notice her, and Ritsuko was just like those professors. Cold, detached—they had tenure, what did they care?

What did Ritsuko Akagi care?

"Good,” Ritsuko said, and Maya had the impression that she was talking to her instead of Rei. “Let's get this over with.”

A series of acknowledgments followed, and a flurry of activity took over the crowded control room. But even as the technicians busily typed commands at their stations, Maya felt one or two sets of eyes land questioningly on her.

She turned back to once more peer out the armored window at the cage beyond, imagining that inside the blue Evangelion the First Child could very well be looking at her also. Maya shook her head slowly, in case it wasn’t just her imagination. 

 

The two roommates sat together at the dinner table for what seemed like the first time in ages. Shinji had cooked, of course, something for which Misato was grateful because she was getting pretty bored with the watery soups and tasteless concoctions provided by all of Central Dogma's cafeterias. The fact that he had taken it upon himself to cook also meant he was coping, even if he still wasn’t going to school.

Misato had always loved Shinji's cooking, but no matter how hard she tried to enjoy it, the awkward silence in the room made her feel slightly uncomfortable. They hadn’t spoken about Asuka in days. Shinji seemed as keen to avoid the subject as she was to make sure he was doing alright. She tried not to look at him, fearing she might increase the awkwardness between them and cause him to walk up and leave.

She didn’t want to drive him away—the one thing she thought he needed was someone to be with. 

“I'm finished,” Shinji said as he set his chopsticks down on the table, next to his plate.

Misato lifted her gaze from her own plate, which was only half empty, and looked at the boy. He was depressed, she could tell. His shoulders were sagging, his whole posture slumped. The pale blue orbs of his eyes seemed bleaker than she remembered.

Shinji had always had sad eyes. It just one of things—somehow the physical qualities of a person reproduced and even magnified emotions held deep inside. He was a gloomy, quiet kid, perhaps moreso than anyone that age should be, but sad was a different level entirely. Gloomy was usually a disposition towards the future; sadness stemmed from something that had already happened and could not be changed.

Sadness could not be fixed, no matter how much Misato wished she could. 

"Dinner was very good, Shinji," she said somewhat cheerfully, trying to ease the tension that had grown between the two of them. "You really outdid yourself."

"Thank you," Shinji replied in a whisper, his head down. 

"Maybe if things had been different, you could have become a chef." Misato didn’t like the how that sounded, as if that possibility was gone forever when it really wasn’t. Shinji was young, and he had his whole life ahead of him. He was an Evangelion pilot, but that wasn’t all he could ever be.

"Maybe..." Shinji began. He pushed his plate away and rose slowly to his feet. "Uh...Misato-san, can I ask you a question?"

He hesitated as he said this, clearly attempting to broach an even more uncomfortable subject. Misato had a good idea what was coming, and braced herself. “What is it?”

Shinji swallowed awkwardly, hands clenching repeatedly at his side “I-I just wanted to know … Ayanami—Rei, she … I can pilot Eva. That’s what you need me to do, right? I can pilot it. I can do anything. But Rei …”

“You want to pilot so she doesn’t have to?” Misato finished for him.

“Yes,” he said with uncharacteristic assertiveness. “I’ll do anything. I won’t complain. I won’t disobey orders. Just don’t make her …” he stopped suddenly, and Misato realize he was only now registering the look of regret on her face. “Sorry.”

“I don’t understand why Rei chooses to do what she does,” Misato said. “But she does. Nobody makes her do it. I think maybe she’s aware than we’ve been living in borrowed time—that sooner or later we’ll need the Evangelions. You are one thing, but Asuka’s out of the question.”

The redhead’s name seemed to catch him by surprise. He swallowed whatever protest he wanted to make. A shadow settled over his young face.

It was the first time the subject was brought up; Misato had not figured out how to do so and not come across as accusatory. Despite her best efforts, however, Shinji’s conscience was not about to let him get off that easily. Her mentioning it now only seemed to upset him more. 

He started to blush, but not from shame—it was anger turned inwards. Self-hatred. At that moment he was caught between confronting a very harsh reality and running away.

“I...I didn't mean to hurt her,” he said remorsefully.

Misato nodded. It was all she could do. "I know, Shinji."

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Shinji..."

"I didn't mean for her to go away!" he yelled, as if needing to make her understand—there didn’t seem to be anything more important to him in the world.

"We never mean for bad things to happen, Shinji,” she said, doing her most motherly impression. “But they happen anyway. It's a part of life. All we can do is make sure that when bad things do happen, we should always try to find a way to overcome them. I don’t think I’m the one you should be saying these things to, either. There’s only one person who should know you didn’t want to hurt them. And it isn’t me." Misato pressed her lips. "What else can I say?

"Not much...I guess," Shinji replied dourly. "I just...don't know how to deal with this."

"With what?" Misato asked.

"The feeling of guilt," Shinji said. The admission seemed to hit him like a physical blow. His face hardened, a young set of features frozen in seriousness. "The feeling that this is all my fault. That I shouldn't have said those things. That … that I …"

"Only you can come to terms with your own feelings." She stopped him before he got any further, knowing full well where that lonely road would lead him.

Neither of them said anything else for a while. The silence hung in the clammy kitchen air like a blanket, pushing aside the smell of freshly-cooked food and filling the senses with something far less pleasant.

There was hardly any need for him to tell her that he was sorry in the first place. She had known him long enough to realize he wouldn’t hurt a fly without provocation. It wasn’t in his nature in the same way that confrontation was in Asuka’s. Again she regretted the decision to bring them together, to even dare to imagine that their personalities could peacefully coexist. 

Finally, Shinji turned around. "I'm going to bed."

"Good night."

He picked up his plate and put it in the sink. He’d made it a few steps into the living room, before he stopped and then turned back. "Misato-san?"

"Yes?" she said attentively.

"Would you mind taking out the trash tonight? I know it's my turn, but I'm...just too tired."

He could have asked her to quack like a chicken and she would have done it. He could have asked for a lot more. Misato remembered how, in the depths of the war with the Angels, she had gone as far as offering him her body. She had only touched him, to let him know that she was there for him. However wrong it was, she just wanted to make him feel better. But whether it was because he didn’t understand or because he didn’t want her, Shinji had pulled away. It had been easy to think that he was just too innocent.

Misato regretted that incident, and thinking about it only reinforced the sense that she was completely unprepared for the role she was attempting to play. She wasn’t a mother, to either Shinji or Asuka; she was just a stand-in, an unwed matron who was little more than filler. 

“Don't worry about it, Shinji,” Misato said with a deceptively reassuring wave of her hand. “I got it. You go on. Good night.”

"Thank you," Shinji said.

As part of their assigned duties, Section 2 agents kept surveillance on the Children and submitted regular reports. She hadn’t been home to keep tabs on him personally, but she was aware of the fact that he had missed school several days in a row. He was probably avoiding Asuka, and missing must have seemed like a reasonable precaution, which she could understand. But the reports also indicated the Second Child had been absent as well. In any case, Asuka could afford to miss school—the only reason she’d been assigned to Class 2-A to begin with was to facilitate surveillance and security—while Shinji couldn’t.

Admittedly, Misato had told him to take a day off to go talk to Rei, but she hadn't intended for him to extend that indefinitely. 

School, like cooking, represented a future apart from the Evangelion, things that could open many doors later on in life. She would have to talk to him about that. Not now, though. His future was secondary only to his present, and he certainly didn’t need a lecture from her right now.

"I'll do the dishes too, Shinji," she added, not feeling it was fair to put him up to doing chores. It was a little thing, but she had to carry her own weight. Shinji needed her to be a grown up, to stop placing undue burdens on his shoulders.

Shinji nodded, bid Misato a good night again and went to his room. His steps were heavy as he went, lacking even the faintest trace of willpower, his socks rustling silently against the floor.

Misato finished her last bite and leaned back on her wooden chair, throwing back her head so that she could stare at the ceiling. The yellow light fell harshly on her face. Her skin was hot and covered in perspiration, even though she only wore a stringy top and shorts. Asuka had always complained about the need for a new air conditioner. But she ignored these things, her mind drifting elsewhere… to Shinji and what he was going through.

Somehow she had to make sense of it—there had to be a logical explanation for how things could have gotten so far out of control. Because, maybe then she’d be able to help him.

"Is that it...a consequence of guilt?" she whispered absently to herself. "He's too hard on himself."

 

Russian Foreign Minister Boris Alexandrovich Vassiliesky was used to being respected by anyone he came in contact with—it came from representing the second most powerful nation on Earth—and was extremely annoyed when Gendo Ikari refused to meet him on the time set by the Minister’s office and instead arranged his own meeting. To top it off, Ikari appeared pleased at the Russian's willingness to get on his good side; he knew very well that when people want something they are likely to be unusually accommodating.

"Despite what the UN says, the Russian Federation, as you know, is very interested in what NERV has to offer," the Foreign Minister said, setting down his tea cup on the little plate that had been provided. 

"I am doubtful of your motives," Gendo Ikari said. “The Evangelion technology is not just for showing off. I must have strict assurances that you will use this gift judiciously.”

They were sitting across from each other on one of NERV's most private conference lounges, with several of Ikari's Section 2 people and Vassiliesky's own SPETSNAZ-trained security guards acting as sentries. The only ones that were allowed to move back and forth were the waiters that brought dinner, and the Minister's personal aide.

"Your point is well taken, but I assure you, your fears are unjustified," Vassiliesky said. “My government handled thousands of nuclear weapon for fifty years. Never in that time did we adopt the cavalier attitude of our enemies. We are cautions to the extreme. The same could be said for whatever technology we borrow from you.”

Ikari nodded. "Yes, you sound a lot like America when it asked us to grant them this same technology," he said, lacing his fingers in front of his face. "We foolishly did, thinking that the Americans could be trusted. But now you see what's happened. The Americans are trying to push us out of their country. They don’t believe they need us anymore."

"Russia is not America," Vassiliesky said slowly, making emphasis on every word. “We remember those who help us, and never forget an affront. Go ask the Germans.”

"I am well aware of that," Ikari replied. "Russia is even more dangerous than America. Still, danger is a matter of perspective. On that account alone is that I am willing to offer you a deal."

Vassiliesky leaned forward on his chair, decidedly interested. "I'm listening."

"I will allow your country access to what you want but I will require something of the utmost importance to NERV," Ikari began. "If you refuse then I will have no other option but to ask you to leave immediately."

"You don't leave me many options open, Ikari," Vassiliesky said. “We are not the sort to make decisions on the spot.”

"Who needs options?" Ikari said matter-of-factly. "This is my offer, do you take it?"

"And what is it that you want in return?"

"A spare."

Vassiliesky thought about that, judging how much information to reveal. "So you know about that?”

"Unfortunately," Ikari said. “I don’t know whether I should be offended that you have begun to move ahead with the next stage of your plan before being granted what you need to complete phase one. It presents me with more arrogance I feel comfortable dealing with.”

“A weapon is useless if it can not be deployed on the battlefield,” Vassiliesky said. “Even one as powerful as the Evangelion. I’m sure a man like you understands perfectly. I would not be asking for technical data and making deals unless I knew it was workable. But I find it strange that you would require this from us.”

“My organization has been infiltrated, so I must outsource.” Ikari looked at him evenly, his gaze robotic. His face did not betray the slightest hint of emotion. “You are doubtful, which is permissible given the nature of my request. What do your instincts tell you?” 

"My instincts tell me that you are a snake in the grass," Vassiliesky began and then he broke into a smile. "That you are dangerous in the extreme. And that the devil would be foolish to make a deal with you.” He paused, grinned. “Are you sure you do not have Russian blood?"

"I am afraid not," Ikari said.

“A pity, really,” Vassiliesky said. “Anyway, put your offer in writing and I'll pass it along to my government as the best course of action. Then it'll be up to the boss. He will most likely approve it if I recommend it. Of course, this is all providing that NERV keeps its end of the bargain."

“Nothing in writing,” Ikari countered. “I would not be so careless as to sign my name to a piece of paper. You pass along my message, personally if you must.”

Vassiliesky paused, considering. A trip to Moscow didn’t trouble him—he’d be there tonight should he required it. What bothered him was the Comrade President wanting to know why he’d made the trip at Ikari’s behest. Russians ministers were nobody’s couriers. On the other hand, the potential behind this proposition was simply staggering. “Very well,” he concluded. “I shall do as you request, as a personal favor.”

"We must see results before you are allowed access to the requested information. But NERV will keep its word," Ikari said. “Otherwise, I much appreciate your sincerity.”

Vassiliesky nodded his agreement. He was not entirely convinced of the other's motives, and the reverse was probably true. However, trust and respect were not mutually exclusive in these sort of dealings. At least as long as one had something the other wanted. "You drive a hard bargain, Ikari."

“I wouldn't have lasted very long in this position if I didn't.”

 

The main control room inside Central Dogma was built in tiers that reflected the command of the organization itself inside a cavernous space. The main deck was essentially the ground floor, although it was built roughly halfway up on the superstructure that took up the room's near wall. The Commander's deck was perched highest on the structure that made up the top tier. The floor plan was geometric, resembling a triangle with a MAGI computer located at each point and stations laid out around the perimeter. It was a modern castle, humanity's last bastion against the Angels.

The front of the room contained the huge tactical display, the world's biggest holographic layout. The hum of machinery was constant but little more than pleasant white noise. Due to the need to control light intensity for the holograms, most of the room was plunged in darkness, making the tiny lights in the further parts twinkle like stars in the night.

Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki watched the nearest computer screen as the information was transferred from the Test Facility to the separate consoles and then to the MAGI's main database for analysis. Although it wasn't his custom, he was presently standing on the main deck watching the technicians in front perform their assigned duties.

They were all young men and women. Being among them make Fuyutsuki feel as though he was back in Kyoto, teaching the future generations. Each of these of these youngsters was an Einstein in potentia, a Heisenberg.

A Yui Ikari. 

Fuyutsuki smiled to himself at the memory. But it was also a sad one—in the end her success meant an end for the potential of youth. Yet another sacrifice for a chance at a new beginning. Things were moving along now. Evangelion Unit-00 was now working, even if only with the old programming, and Dr. Akagi had made good progress on the Dummy. Gendo Ikari was close to attaining his goal, and if NERV could survive the next few days, it would achieve a level of influence comparable only to that of SEELE itself.

Fuyutsuki was more concerned with his immediate superior than with the old men, though. He knew that Ikari was not pleased with the overall delay of his Complementation Project, and that he was even angered by having to divert his original plan to make room for all the issues that had surfaced since the last Angel, particularly Rei.

The universe worked like that; entropy and uncertainty were variables that could not be eliminated, only compensated for.

Had the UN tried to destroy them, Fuyutsuki thought, all the restriction to Complementation would have been removed and Commander Ikari would have been able to do as he wished without repercussions. But, because of Rei, they could no longer guarantee any success. Her loss was the crippling blow that compelled them to be political. Gendo Ikari could only welcome the extra time. He'd had to postpone his plans and alter them in such a way that he could secure SEELE's non-intervention. But Rei was the key.

Yui would have liked for him to wait anyway.

"Commander, I think you should see this," Lieutenant Makoto Hyuga called up to him from his station on the far left side of central computer bank. The Sub-Commander made his way to the computer console and peered intently at the screen.

“What is it?” said Fuyutsuki.

"The MAGI have detected an anomaly in the Earth's electromagnetic field," Hyuga said, pointing to a spike on his computer readout. “Strong enough to trigger our sensors.”

"What does it mean?" asked Fuyutsuki.

"Well it's..."

Before Hyuga could finish that sentence all of the alarms went off at once. The control room was plunged into a chaos of sirens and claxons, which Fuyutsuki ordered be disabled immediately. The red emergency lights flashed everything in a deep crimson. The color of blood.

Operators scrambled to their consoles and began typing commands furiously.

"Lieutenant?" demanded the Sub-Commander calmly.

"The MAGI don't know,” Hyua said, typing in his computer. “The magnetic anomaly has changed. It looks like an EMP shock wave."

"EMP? Location?"

Fuyutsuki waited for the answer he knew was coming. Surely, this was it.

"Eastern Asia. China. Beijing."

"The Sixth Branch," Fuyutsuki said. "Get the feed from the UN satellites. Invoke query priority Alpha."

"Satellite signal is up," Lieutenant Haruna Hiei announced, sitting in the middle of the computer bank, a worried expression on her face as she turned towards the Sub-Commander. “Sir...”

“Relay to the main display.”

The immense screen in the front of the room came to life with a satellite image of Eastern China. The small letters on the bottom left corner identified it as UNS CommSat 46. The screen changed from the graphics to a very fuzzy image, what was usual for long distance transmissions. As the image began to clear, the picture of China zoomed in on the Beijing coordinates. The image was held for a few seconds, and the camera, or whatever it was up there on the satellite, started to rotate. In the time it took for the picture to clear again the sense of alarm that had gripped all those in the control room turned to horror.

A dome of light expanded rapidly across the vast landscape in front of it, consuming everything which existed in its path.

Even Fuyutsuki, who thought he knew what to expect, felt his chest tighten with dread.

Everyone in the room stood still, silent, eyes wide open. Time seemed to stop, as more and more of the Earth below was incinerated by the tidal wave of light and fire. The image was filled with the grotesque light, so vast that it disappeared into the horizon and set the sky ablaze as if it were a vision of hell itself.

Aoba, by his console, was the first to react. He said something, but no one else understood because no one was paying attention. Fuyutsuki guessed it was either a curse or a prayer. He decided on the later, for he too was willing to start asking for God's forgiveness.

"Well...." he said softly, trying hard not to let his fear show in his words. He barely succeeded at that. "It has finally happened. They seem to have activated Unit A after all."

"Oh, God..." came Haruna's shocked whisper as the image zoomed out of the picture so that the entire globe would appear on camera.

Aoba slowly removed his headset and shot a strange glance at Fuyutsuki, as if for reassurance to what his eyes were witnessing, but just one look at the Sub-Commander's grim face was enough to convince him this was for real.

The white haired Sub-Commander simply stared at the screen. Then he glanced at Hyuga, who was still very shocked.

"I think we’d better start praying for a miracle, sir," the young operator said, shaking his head.

Fuyutzuki cocked his head, as if snapping from a trance. He locked eyes with the operator, eyes that said a lot. “Pray to whom, Lieutenant?” 

 

Far below the watchful eye of UNS CommSat 46 the city of Beijing, China, was no longer a city. It was a hellish cauldron of noise and fire, of light and death. The wave of light expanded and blasted everything in its path. The earth shook, the sky darkened and then became alive with fire. It seemed the world had come to an end.

In the center of this hell, hovering over the ruins of NERV's Sixth Branch HQ, a ghostly shape straightened itself out of the ashes of the devastated city, a creature so powerful that the whole world lay incinerated at its feet. The creature roared among the flames, its eyes alight with the fire of its own power. Its wings stretched out towards the heavens, its arms spread apart as if offering itself in sacrifice to an obscure creator.

The abominable Angel, although trapped in an Eva's body, bellowed angrily to proclaim its birth; and the entire world trembled.

 

"I see," Commander Ikari said as he hung up the personal phone located on his desk. He turned to face the blond doctor standing behind him. His grim expression—more grim than usual—precluded the need for any words.

"So I take it they did it, then?" Ritsuko Akagi asked. It was a rhetorical question, obviously, but she could not refrain from making it.

"Yes." Ikari replied unemotionally.

“Did we make a mistake?”

“I can’t answer that. We’ll know soon enough.”

 

To be continued...


End file.
